Tales of Light and Ash
by Cyrulan
Summary: The hearts of Men are so easily corrupted. A single temptation is the gateway to ruin. The hearts of Men are so easily healed. A single kindness is the gateway to love. Thranduil/OC
1. Chapter 1

_This isn't a plotless romance story—it will lead somewhere. Specifically to Rohan. I'll edit this if I have to once the movie comes out, but I really want to stick to canon. I certainly won't make the next chapter until the movie comes out. I wasn't too fond of the Elven King in the book, but golly, Lee Pace is such a cutie that I couldn't resist. So this is for you, Ned the Pie Maker. _

_And also to Kevin, who I know loves the Mirkwood Elk as much as I do. Not really. _

A story about a wandering guide and a Gondorian scholar in the Eastern lands of Middle Earth as they explore the corruption of tyranny.

_**Disclaimer: In Durin's name. Merlin's beard. Gosh darn, I don't seem to own anything other than my sanity.**_

* * *

The lands surrounding these woods had grown dark as centuries passed, as most surely have heard from the tales and dirges. Not many dared to enter the woods of the Elven King of Mirkwood, as they had no wish to part with their lives. Most of those who had the courage and, perhaps, the folly of passing through the forest of the ancient woods had not possessed the luck of seeing the Silvan Elves that often lingered in the heart of their forest, for many perished before ever reaching past the borders.

These were the whispers that surrounded King Thranduil's domain.

It was a danger to follow through the dark pathways of the forests forged by the Dwarves of old, as many had faded and disappeared with time, and it was not easy to use the surroundings for guidance, as the harsh rivers were often misleading and poisoned fogs treacherous. If the wanderers had been blessed with a keen sense of direction, then most likely their fates would end by the hands of the growing evil of Dol Guldur, for at this Age, such things were not uncommon.

"We will soon be facing many hardships once we enter King Thranduil's domain," said Areth quietly, as if she feared the slightest raise of her voice would bring the evil of the land upon her. Brushing her hand on the horse's mane, she soon brought him to a halt.

They have reached the borders of the Mirkwood Forest.

"We will take our rest here," said Areth as her green eyes looked to the sky. The sun had yet to descend, but the wanderer was wary of the dangers that often lurked in the Silvan Elves' domain.

"No, we will continue on," said Aldamir, shaking his head. Always, he was adamant to go against his companion's decisions. "The day is young. Surely, if we were to enter now, we are bound to find our way in the halls of the Elven King."

"Once we enter this dark forest, we are bound to nothing but our fates," said Areth grimly, glancing sideways at the man. "We will take our rest."

Her decision was final. She knew Aldamir resented her for what he considered was an imperious attitude. As it was he who hired her as a guide through the eastern lands of Middle Earth, he felt it should be his decision should they move. Areth's answer remained the same, however.

_You hired me to be your guide, and your guide I shall be. _

Areth had yet to lead him astray, and yet, his nature prevented him from fully giving her his entire confidence. He was a Gondorian scholar—he locked himself up in libraries studying endlessly about the lands of Middle Earth known to man—surely he knew a fair amount better than this wanderer.

And also, there remained the fact that she was a woman. Aldamir studied her as she swiftly dismounted her horse and ran a gentle hand on the creature's neck. _A rather small one, at that_. He didn't know how she could protect him from danger when she barely looked apt to protect herself.

If she noticed any doubts on his part, it didn't particularly look like Areth cared either way. She always seemed indifferent to everything except her duty. It was not that she was uncaring, but Aldamir deemed her far too reserved. Areth seldom spoke to him, save for the few times when absolutely necessary.

The fading light of dusk soon coated the hills and mountains of the North. The companions prepared for the night, and though Areth said nothing, she did hope that Aldamir would relish their last night of true rest.

It was silent save for the crackling of the fire and the slight movement of the leaves. Areth's solemn green eyes reflected the shadows of the Greenwood Forest. She dared not look away. She sat with her back against the fire, her arms wrapped around her bent legs.

Aldamir leaned as close as he could to the burning flames without getting burned, as it provided the only light. He pulled out a small, leather-bound book from his breast pocket and quickly sketched the silhouette of Mirkwood. With a sharp sigh of exasperation, Aldamir snapped the book shut before shoving it once again in his vest.

"This will not do," he uttered, shaking his head, "This simply will not do."

"It would be best if we were to remain silent by these parts," said Areth in a hushed whisper. Hearing a loud rustle from the woods, she paused. Areth thought she saw the flash of eyes. Her hand twitched, as if preparing to grasp her bow. "I do not feel safe here."

Aldamir felt that familiar twinge of irrational irritation. "If you feel so compelled to leave, then go fetch us something to eat."

A faint growl was heard. Aldamir started, but was quick to brush it off as the wind.

"I would not deem it wise, for these lands are the dwelling of the Skin Changer," she said. Though her voice remained even as it had been before, it became noticeably colder. "He does not tolerate hostility in his home."

Areth once again caught a faint shine reflect in the forest, which caused her to quickly grasp her bow. Just as she prepared to pull an arrow with her other hand, a shadow in the form of a great animal seemed to move, disappearing entirely behind the great trees. The wanderer's green eyes narrowed, and while her she retreated back to her original calm position on the grass, her wariness did not waver.

"What is it?" said Aldamir, his grey eyes widening as his eyes attempted to adjust to darkness, "Areth?"

His eyes caught the shadow of a large bear.

"Ease your mind and get your rest," Areth said softly, her chin resting in her folded knees.

As Aldamir's head brushed against the ground's tickling grass, he shut his eyes. The last vision he saw was of the wanderer's golden hair, for even despite the darkness, it seemed to radiate with the rays of the light.

* * *

"Once we enter the forest, our lives are no longer our own. Step with caution," Areth said.

She paused. For a brief moment, the wanderer faltered, for as she looked past the tall trees, she could have sworn that she saw the waiting eyes of their…

Areth shook her head. She would carry on her duty to Aldamir.

"Take only what you can carry. We will walk from here on out," she said, turning. Discarding the saddles from the backs of the two horses, she bid them a final farewell in the language of the Eorlingas before releasing them.

She stared after her their fleeting companions as they made their way back to the safer lands of the Skin Changer. They will return to the Mark. Areth's green eyes softened when they disappeared. Never before had she felt such sadness at parting from their company.

The sun was bright, the sky clear. Areth bowed her head and whispered a silent farewell to the familiar sight around her.

After all, this might possibly be the last time she would be able to do so.

* * *

The tales and songs did not paint an accurate picture of the darkness that surrounded Mirkwood. It portrayed the dangers, but words are not enough to fully depict a harsh reality. Aldamir in particular viewed the tales as simple stories—from his departure from Minas Tirith, not once did he consider the dangers alluded in their songs. So vague it was that the scholar brushed it off as mere legends.

He would have done well to pay heed to their warnings.

"I underestimated the darkness of these woods," said Aldamir in a hushed whisper. He dare not raise his voice beyond Areth's hearing range. The air felt limited and he felt that talking would waste it.

Areth did not answer and, instead, pulled a thick branch back and allowed Aldamir to pass through. He took no notice, however, as his nose was buried in his leather-bound journal. The efforts were futile, as the words seemed to blur together to cast a shadow.

"Oh, confound it all," he breathed. He put the item away and wiped the sweat from his brow. The hot air entrapped within the forest of Mirkwood was suffocating.

Aldamir felt wary. Every sound he heard seemed to resonate through the entire forest and it brought him to an edge. The uncertainty of the forest was driving him close to madness and the fear was ever so present within him. He kept close to his guide.

"We should use the main road, where there is light," said Aldamir.

"No," Areth's response was quick, "The darkness will protect us from danger. We will be spotted in broad light."

Areth was in no better state. As she walked, her attitude remained rigid and her grip on the bow was unyielding while her other hand was kept a short distance from the dagger attached to her belt. Areth's usually bright green eyes were hooded with trepidation.

It had been like this for several days.

The travel wore Aldamir down and as the hours passed, so did his temperament and better judgment. Their supply of food and water was bound to run out eventually. In fact, the rations became smaller and smaller, and while Aldamir did not mind the food shortage, the effects of dehydration was slowly beginning to affect him.

"Confound it all," Aldamir hissed for the umpteenth time as he harshly wiped the dripping sweat from his forehead, "This wretched forest's name is rightly deserved. It is as dark as the tales."

"You should not have entertained the idea of entering Mirkwood if you are going to complain for the rest of our journey," Areth said as she lifted her gloved hand to push against a thick, twisting branch, "But in spite of this overall folly, you did manage to do one thing right."

"And what's that?" he said irritably as he was almost hit by the swinging branch. Aldamir's eyes narrowed at his guide. She did it on purpose, he knew.

"You sought my assistance," she said simply.

Aldamir scoffed. "Your arrogance is unbecoming. Do not speak of things that you know nothing of. You know not of my purpose, so do not accuse me of folly."

"Have you deluded yourself in believing that you can survive the perils of Mirkwood without assistance?" Areth said, her tone much sharper that it was before. "If so, then _please_, lead the way," she gave an exaggerated gesture towards the darkness.

Aldamir stared at the wanderer with resentment, but did not move. He merely lifted his chin higher. Now he realized why he disliked her—Areth always seemed to undermine him.

"You speak of arrogance, and here I wonder which of us truly deserves the title," she muttered as she tightened the leather strap of her bow carrier.

"And _what_ is that supposed to mean?" snapped Aldamir.

"It means you overestimate your importance, you pretentious _child_," Areth snapped back.

Aldamir's grey eyes widened visibly in surprise at Areth's cross response. Feeling like a berated adolescent, he raised his chin indignantly, as if in rebellion.

It seemed that his sentiments were reciprocated. A tense barrier of silence seemed to make its way around them.

* * *

A few more days passed.

To Aldamir, there seemed to be no end. Long had he given up with identifying the species and names of the plants that grew about the route that they took, as in the darkness, everything looked the same. Everything was dark. Everything was a shadow.

His focus was instead on his aching muscles and a painful itch on his palms that seemed determined to be acknowledged.

"We will stop here," Aldamir breathed finally. His energy was spent.

"That is not wise," said Areth. Her voice was as quiet as it usually was before they entered the forest and yet it seemed a shout in such a silent, eerie place.

"Areth, I can walk no longer," he hissed.

Aldamir no longer held feeling of his hands. It felt as if someone had cut them off. He stifled a groan, but he could prolong it no longer. His foot caught on a branch and he was forced on his knees and yelled when his palms scraped against the ground. While he had ignored the sting for the past hour, the intensified pain was not something that Aldamir had seen coming. Soon, it was not only his hands that felt pain, for it seemed to attack his entire body.

Areth's reaction was swift, as if she had seen it coming and was prepared. Without letting go of her wooden bow, she grabbed onto the back of her companion's collared shirt, preventing him from falling face flat on a jagged rock. Steadying him by his shoulders, Areth kneeled in front of Aldamir.

Areth was barely recognizable in Aldamir's eyes. The edges of his vision were beginning to blur together, and barely anything was distinguishable. To him, the figure leaning before him was a bright torch of yellow light that brought the only clarity in this damp, cheerless desolation.

With her brow creased in worry and concentration, Areth quickly inspected Aldamir for any possible injuries. She checked for any ripped clothing and cuts that might have allowed any sorts of poison to contaminate his blood.

Gripping pale palms in her leather-clad hands, Areth narrowed her green eyes upon the severe swelling that expanded from his wrists to his finger-tips. She was alarmed to see that it had turned a dark shade of purple underneath his fair skin, as if a dark shadow was extending throughout his hands.

"You fool, what have you done?" she muttered as she lowered him to the ground, setting his pack as a head rest, "This is a gradual infection. When did you notice this?"

"A… day ago, perhaps," Aldamir managed to wheeze out. Pulling on her glove, Areth checked his forehead. His brow was heated.

"You did not think it important to tell me?"

"I thought that it would pass," Aldamir weakly defended, "I am… stronger than you think."

"Oh, the wisdom of a scholar," Areth bit with great sarcasm, "Do you not realize the peril you now put both of us through? Now, we are vulnerable to any attack."

It made no difference to Aldamir whether or not he was standing or lying, as the pain did not once falter. To his utter horror, he found it hard to breathe. His grey eyes widened as he stared up at the pale blur that was Areth and without any words exchanged, the wanderer seemed to know what he was trying to say.

"I had not encountered any such an injury…" she muttered as she brought his head higher. It did not help. "I do not have the skill to heal this. It is hard enough without proper light."

Areth, still perched upon one knee, spared a glance upwards to the tall trees. It lead to no avail, however, as the thick leaves and branches did not allow even the sliver of light to pass through. She let out a heavy exhale and wiped the growing moisture on her brow. With narrowed green eyes, Areth slowly placed the bow again on her back, as if she feared the danger might suddenly come the moment she was defenseless.

"We have no choice but to rest here tonight," said Areth in defeat. She slowly looked around the area, green eyes searching. "But I fear the worst. We have yet to reach the dwelling of the Silvan Elves. We are not free from danger."

"It matters not," Aldamir muttered in a muted groan, "For I seem… to be perishing from my own… folly."

"Indeed," was Areth's dry response. However much she played at indifference, had Aldamir been coherent, he would have surely caught the anxious worry in her eyes. "I cannot work without light."

With the swiftness that only came from the practice of experience, Areth gathered fallen sticks and branches, though she was careful to not stray too far from Aldamir. Not only was he vulnerable to the unknown, but also to his own blood.

_Folly, indeed, _she thought as she worked to make a flame. When smoke began to rise from the slightly damp collection of wood, Areth quickly blew on it. The glowing embers grew stronger and soon, a small flame engulfed the bark.

_The enemies are now sure to know our location. _And even after she had taken the necessary precautions, it all led for naught. A waste, it all became. They might as well have traveled on the lit path of Mirkwood. Areth took such lengths to avoid the southern routes as best as she could. _Although, I suppose it is better to be on the border rather than in the direct sight of Dol Guldur, _she thought grimly.

Still, being away from the direct lands of Dol Guldur did not separate them from its influences. The darkness from that wretched place spread much like Aldamir's poison, holding clutches upon its heart. The hold of its darkness was unyielding. Though the evil of Dol Guldur was not so powerful in the northern boundaries, Areth acknowledged that it was, indeed, growing.

While Areth and Aldamir were located at the border that she knew the Silvan Elves still protected, their security was not guaranteed. They protected their lands, but she was not certain about travelers. King Thranduil was not known for his hostility, but neither was he known for his warmth.

Areth stared at the smoke as it rose from the licking flames of the fire. _Someone is bound to see this. Someone is bound to see _us_. _

The guide wasted no time. Throwing her own bag to the ground, Areth, still supported on one knee that was digging on the soil, leaned over the shivering Gondorian scholar. She was quick to pull her dagger. A flash of regret came over her green eyes. There was no other alternative. It would be painful, but he would recover from wounds, whereas there would be no return from death.

Upon the flickering of the flames, Areth was quick to notice the small, barely noticeable red marks at the tips of his fingers. They looked like the piercings from needles. She brought his hands open and made a quick slash at his pale palms. Dark blood was quick to pool like water, dripping thickly from the creases of his palm to the ground.

The pain from the poison was so severe that Aldamir did not even flinch. Areth clicked her tongue and her forest eyes narrowed as she regarded her foolish employer_. A scholar, indeed. He's more ignorant than a mountain troll. _

Reaching for a leather pouch from inside her robe, she pulled out a salve of what looked to be herbs and applied it on the slashed wound. Aldamir hissed, but was otherwise too paralyzed to protest. Areth just hoped that it was enough to draw out the poison.

"Had you told me sooner, I could have guaranteed that you would be able to keep your hands," she murmured half-heartedly as she wrapped his palms with bandages. Even then, she would not have been able to guarantee anything.

Aldamir was instantly visibly alarmed. As his body was still paralyzed, he could do no more that let out an odd sound.

The herbs will surely draw out the poison, but Areth knew that her skills were limited. She was not a healer and had no desire to take responsibility for the life of the sick and dying. Areth knew that she would have to get help soon.

Staring into the dark abyss of their route, the guide knew that it was far too late to turn back to the Skin Changer's dwelling. It had taken them days to reach to their current location and turning back was a sure guarantee of Aldamir's death. Areth contemplated looking along the forests for more herbs, but already she knew that it would lead to no avail. Her options were limited, she knew, and events were rarely predictable in such a dark place. Areth contemplated seeking the aid of the Istar that was said to live about these borders, and yet, she would probably have a better chance finding the Silvan Elves before finding Radagast the Brown.

Staring into the crackling flames of the fire, Areth knew that it would not be long before the shadows of Dol Guldur found them. Using her bent knee as leverage, Areth pushed herself to stand and felt the wave of dehydration hit her. With the combination of the stifling air and the heat, it was all suffocating.

What Aldamir wished to accomplish by entering the Forest of Fear, Areth did not know, but she was certain this was not it. Stiff and paralyzed, here Aldamir lay by the fire with limbs far too heavy to lift and eyes far too tired to open. He was vulnerable.

Still, she held true to her duty. Whatever danger might follow after, Areth knew that she must do something to lead the shadow astray.

Areth frowned as she looked over at her employer. Though he not had control of his hands, Aldamir had yet to regain full coherency of his surroundings. He would be a liability and she would surely finish much quicker if she were to do it alone.

"I need for you to stay here," Areth suddenly said. Her voice seemed like a knife cutting through the thick silence. Her green eyes briefly glanced over his still form and then muttered, "Not that you have a will to do otherwise."

Unclasping her cloak from around her shoulder, she threw it over the fire and kicked on the muffled flames until the rise of smoke was all that was left.

Areth then kneeled over Aldamir, close enough so that his half-lidded eyes were able to know that she was there. Taking a dagger from her belt, she grasped his dirty, bandaged hand. Areth felt him stiffen slightly, but assuring him that he was in no danger, she then wrapped his fingers around the weapon's hilt.

"Just in case you are in danger," Areth whispered as she set his hand back over his chest. She grabbed her bow and prepared to leave. "You will be able to move soon enough."

Aldamir's grasp tightened slightly and his grey eyes blinked once, telling her that he understood. Pausing for a brief moment, Areth sat before him with her legs folded. She regarded him with softened green eyes, and though his vision was all a blur, Aldamir somehow knew that she was smiling.

The wanderer touched his damp hair.

"I will return, my friend."

And soon enough, Areth was gone.

* * *

Areth could already feel the weariness from her spent energy. Though a small ration of food remained with Aldamir, the fresh water was spent, as she had used the last to clean the scholar's wounds. As she swiftly evaded the trees and their tangled branches, Areth felt a faint throbbing emitting from her temples. There was not much time left to waste, however.

In two different locations, some distance on the east of their camp, Areth was quick to light a fire. It would buy them some time to evade the watchful eyes of danger. She only hoped that the light emanating from the newly-made flames would have caught greater attention than the small fire she made at their resting location.

Entrapping the branch between her palms, she quickly rubbed them together in repeated motion. Just when smoke began to rise and the faint glow of the fire began to form, the thick silence was broken by heavy footsteps and a loud yell.

Dropping the stick and letting the embers die, Areth's brow narrowed over her green eyes, for she recognized the voice to be Aldamir's. The guide grabbed her bow and went on a full sprint towards camp.

Areth berated herself internally. The odds were against her, as the one time she sent caution to the wind just happened to be the moment when caution was most necessary. She should have moved Aldamir's limp body away from their camp before leaving him with no defense but a dagger.

Keeping her footing light, Areth positioned herself behind a tree, a few feet away from where she knew Aldamir was. His speech was incomprehensible, but his clumsy movements were defensive as his hand clutched at his arm. Though the poison had worn off somewhat, at the moment, he was really a danger to himself. That dagger was rather sharp.

Squinting her eyes, Areth attempted to spot the exact location of her enemies. _Blast this darkness, _she thought with aggravation. Taking an arrow from behind, she attempted to make as little noise as she could as she gently pulled at the string. Try as she might, the bow's tension made a soft creak.

Her green eyes widened considerably as an arrow rushed past her ear, effectively scratching her cheek and tearing the edge of her hood. Areth pulled her head back and pressed herself against the tree, her grip not once losing tension as she tried to calm her pounding heart.

It was indeed impressive that the strangers did not once utter a single sound since their arrival. Their presence arrived as swiftly, silently, and deadly as an arrow. Areth had no time to dwell on anything, however, as Aldamir was still in the mercy of the enemy.

His cries have never been a comfort to her ears until that moment— if anything, at least it assured her that he was alive.

Her eyes narrowed and her jaw tensed as her mind played over a foolish scenario. As dangerous and fatal as it was for her, Areth knew that she would not allow Aldamir to die.

Just as she was about to raise her bow, against the perpetual darkness of Mirkwood, a faint shine glittered at the edge of her vision.

Stabbed on the ground, traced with the slight crimson of her blood, lay an arrow that held the bearing of the Silvan Elves.

Though not entirely dropping her wariness, her heart felt the spark of a new hope.

"_Daro!_" she yelled, her head turning to the side. Areth remained pressed against the tree. When she was met with only silence, she continued in Sindarin, "_We are no enemies of King Thranduil's Hall!" _

Hushed murmurings passed between the strangers and so soft were they that they could have been mistaken for the blowing of the wind. Even Aldamir's breathing has quieted considerably.

A pause.

"_Pedig eghellen?_" As was common for the Elvish race, the speaker's voice was deep and smooth while managing the tone of command. "_What business does a Grey Elf of the West and a Man of Gondor have in King Thranduil's forest?" _

"_I will answer your questions only if my friend and I are guaranteed our safety," _she uttered.

"_Lay down your arms and we will lay down ours," _said the elf's companion.

From Areth's perspective behind the tree, she could see neither of the Silvan Elves' silhouettes, though she was able to get a clear view of Aldamir's hunched outline, trembling against the strain of standing.

"_I-"_ Areth began hesitantly.

She was not so easily convinced with the only thing that can grant her security, though she knew that she was at a disadvantage as she stared at Aldamir. Making a resolve, she reluctantly brought the bow back with her arrows.

With her leather-clad palms raised in sign of assent, Areth stepped from behind the trees and slowly made her way towards Aldamir and took the dagger from his hands. She noticed that it was still swollen and infected. Her eyes flashed as she spotted his wounded arm. As she did so, two tall figures hopped down from the branches of the trees right above them, their cloaks and fair hair swaying with their movement.

Still, Areth was wary of them. Almost instinctively, she stood in front of Aldamir. However, she complied with their wishes and pulled down her hood in a sign of temporary alliance.

"_I am not so easily deceived. I see that you are telling the truth," _said Areth. As custom of the Wood Elves, she placed a hand upon her breast and lowered her head slightly in greeting. "_Le suilon_," she said, though her voice indicated otherwise, "_I am Areth and my companion is Aldamir, son of Gondor_."

"_A human woman!_" one of them exclaimed, "_Goheno nin. I thought you were of Elven kind. Your accent is that of the Western lands, as in Imladris_."

Aldamir's limbs felt heavy. He knew that he would not last much longer.

Areth seemed to sense that time was running short and instead of prolonging their conversation, she was quick to interfere. The guide brought Aldamir's uninjured arm around her neck and the addressed the two Silvan Elves with solemn eyes.

"_My companion is injured_," she said. One of them glanced at Aldamir's injured arm with regret, though Areth overlooked it. "_He has been poisoned by a plant native to the Woodland realm. Will you not help us?_"

"_Indeed, we offer you our aid_," one of them said. He was quick to act and instantly took Aldamir from Areth's hold. "_Ernil will lead you to our King's halls, but I will get there quickly if I were to hasten._"

Areth was close to interjecting. Instinctively, she was about to grab for her bow, but was quick to remind herself that she was among allies. Before she could say anything, however, the unnamed Silvan Elf had disappeared with her companion.

Ernil lowered his head in a slight apology to the woman. "I gather that you do not trust us," he said in the Common Tongue. His accent was odd against the Westron language, as if his voice was far too smooth for the rough tongue of the common people. "But fear not, Lady Areth. Lord Aldamir will be safe in the hands of our King."

"Forgive me for thinking otherwise," she said drily, glancing at the elf from her peripheral vision.

"No, I understand," said he with no trace of contempt, "The people of the Woodland Realm has since grown wary of strangers, but King Thranduil is not unkind. You will be treated well."

Areth's new companion looked from her to the shadowed trees of the forest, his eyes keen and searching.

"It would be best if we travel quickly."


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't know how I felt about the Desolation of Smaug. If anything, it depicted Thranduil's character for me. Dear gosh golly, Thranduil was great. _

_Thank you for the alerts, favorites, and reviews. I appreciate it. _

_I originally didn't know how to go about this chapter, but I'm content with it. Anything else was way too out of character and/or Mary-Sue-ish. _

A story about a wandering guide and a Gondorian scholar in the Eastern lands of Middle Earth as they explore the corruption of tyranny.

_**Disclaimer: Professor Tolkien and Peter Jackson are responsible for such visual/magical experiences regarding LotR, Hobbit, etc.**_

* * *

When her heart had finally calmed, the extent of her weariness hit her all too suddenly. The wave of nausea from exhaustion and dehydration was strong as it collided with her consciousness—a deadly combination, she knew. Try as she might to hide it, Areth's pace lagged and her movements sluggish as she was led by her Silvan guide Ernil.

The elf was not blind to her struggle. Although his fair face remained impassive, he had inquired about her well-being. With only the raise of his brow to indicate any slight bit of concern, he asked in the Common Tongue, "Are you well?"

"Fine," Areth replied in a whisper, her voice a mere breathe. _It is truly impressive how despite her condition, she manages to keep her tone dry_, Ernil thought mildly.

The elf stared at her in a disbelieving manner. Even through the dark, he could see her as clearly as if they had been bathed in sunlight and from that alone, he knew that Areth was not, as she said, _fine._ Her exhaustion showed by the manner in which she walked—uncoordinated and sluggish.

"I apologize—I would offer you water to relieve you from dehydration, but I was not far from the gates. I did not expect to encounter anyone other than my kin."

"Do not worry, Ernil. I have endured worst."

Still, she had her pride, Ernil knew. That and the fact that Areth did not fully trust him, which he could not fault her for, considering that his companion did shoot an arrow at her sickly friend. The celerity in which he took Aldamir from Areth's hands and into the direction of the Elven King's home was most likely due to the guilt of having shot at a man delirious with poison.

During Ernil's silent contemplation, Areth merely pulled her hood securely about her head, hiding the strands of hair that escaped. She felt a slight sadness as she stared at the ripped edge. It was her best cloak.

Despite being coated in days of accumulating dirt, her hair still shone when exposed to light. It was such a bother, especially when trying to evade her enemies, for it was too noticeable and was a dead giveaway of her location. The hue and length was so very similar to those of the Sindar Elves—perhaps this time, possessing such hair gave her an advantage with her allies.

Areth's footing faltered and, as in the nature of the Elves, Ernil's keen eyes did not miss it.

"Perhaps I… can be of assistance?" Ernil asked, his deep, smooth voice like a steady stream of water against the Common Language. His light eyes stared at her in an odd mixture of curiosity and uncertainty, as if he was not sure if it were appropriate to ask.

"_Avo 'osto,_" she uttered quietly in his tongue, "_I am not dying, Ernil."_

"_Goheno nin,"_ Ernil apologized, inclining his head slightly, "I did not mean to offend. I am concerned that you may be pushing past your limits."

"It matters not," Areth said tiredly, "It appears that we have reached the gates of your Hall."

And so they reached the tall, thin doors that lead to the Great Elven King's Hall.

A great throne under the hill was where the King of the Woodland Realm wandered. A dwelling as beautiful as those who resided in its territory, King Thranduil's domain was a sacred ground, for it was the only place left in the Forest in which safety was a firm assurance.

As the two entered, they were greeted by two of the Mirkwood guards that stood stiff on either sides of the entryway. Heavily armored, they stood tall and firm. Even despite the lower portion of his face draped in dark mail, Areth could see the guard on her right looked at her critically before turning his light eyes upon her companion, as if expecting an explanation.

"_Gi suilon_," Ernil merely said, inclining his head slightly in greeting. He met the cool, blue eyes of the guard without a flinch.

"_It is rather curious that two humans are brought upon the Halls of our king barely scathed,"_ he said in Sindarin. His voice was deeper than that of Ernil, and also far more indifferent. The guard's head then tilted slightly, the metal tinkling and shifting along with his movement. "_Barely_," he emphasized as he was reminded of the bloodied companion. "_But I suppose it is a miracle in itself to have survived from our Woods_."

The small hint of wonder in his voice seemed to evaporate with his next words.

"_Why are they here, Ernil? These humans are not welcome in the sacred halls of Green_-"

"_I would be careful with what I say next if I were you, mellon,"_ Ernil cautioned light-heartedly, only with a hint of underlying warning as he glanced mildly at his quiet companion. Areth seemed to notice.

"I care not," she dismissed in the Common Tongue, her voice but a mere mutter.

And really, she didn't. Areth did not have the energy to ponder over proper etiquette in Sindarin and so she said only what she could in a more familiar language—blunt enough to be listened to but polite enough to avoid hostility. She did not think that she had any patience left to spare.

"_Let us continue on,"_ she said in Sindarin.

The guard raised a dark brow underneath the shadow of his helmet. He regarded the woman in mild surprise. _An apprentice from the Western lands_, he thought.

"_Excuse us_," Ernil said smoothly, walking past the guards. He urged his companion to follow.

Only when they were away from hearing range did her guide try to speak.

"I am sorry about him," Ernil said sincerely, "As I said, the people of our realm had long-"

"-Since grow wary of strangers," Areth uttered for him. She raised glove-clad hand and waved it away in a dismissing manner. "_Avo 'osto_. Do not fret, Ernil. I am not offended, nor do I think any less of the Wood Elves of Greenwood for one guard's behavior."

Ernil merely inclined his head slightly once again and did not press any more on the subject, though he did glance at her curiously. It almost seemed as if she was used to such treatment. From the Silvan hunter's short acquaintanceship with the mortal woman, he gathered that she was well-traveled, for not only did she speak fluent Sindarin with a Western dialect, but her clothing indicated the different customs of different parts of the land.

"It is fortunate that you and your companion were so near to our home," Ernil said, "If we were but a few days from the Gates, I would not be able to guarantee anything regarding the welfare of your friend."

He may not have known it, but despite the fact that Ernil was merely stating an observation, it calmed Areth to an extent. Her shoulders loosened from an involuntary tension.

Soon, the elf and guide found themselves facing a long, winding path.

Areth found her breath stolen from her as her green eyes looked up.

Even her exhaustion could not prevent her from admiring the beauty that was the Halls of King Thranduil. Surely, it was spacious and fit well for the Silvan King of Old. A long winding pathway of wood trailed from where they stood to the distance of what Areth correctly assumed sat the throne of King Thranduil himself. An ethereal glow of amber casted itself upon their heads and it seemed not to make a shadow. Such a majestic wonder was the Woodland Realm—the winding wooden steps and pillars seemed to speak of its majestic beauty and its servitude to nature.

As they took their first step towards the throne, Ernil could not help but cast a small smile as he observed the breath of his companion being stolen away by sheer beauty. It seemed that some things were able to surprise her yet.

Areth seemed to notice. Instead of hiding her evident awe as Ernil expected, she sent him a half-hearted smile. Small as it was, it seemed to bring more light than any flame could to a shadow, for it held more sincerity that any fire ever could.

Ernil's smile faltered and blue eyes softened, as if looking past her to a distant memory. Seeing this, her smile dropped suddenly. Areth turned her head towards the winding path, her light hair moving to cover her face, and moved ahead.

From the distance, only Ernil was aware of the light narrowed eyes that seemed to pierce through his companion.

* * *

It seemed to be hours for Areth before they reached the final steps that led to the throne. Though she felt it enough time to bask in the beauty that was the Hidden Hall under the Hill, her exhaustion was relentless, for it seemed to steal away her better consciousness. Areth was not so disoriented enough to miss her step as she walked the winding path, but she did feel an irrational irritability at the sheer indirectness of the trail.

Soon enough, the flat steps made from the branches of the trees opened into a wide platform. Like everything else in the Hall, it was a mass made of wood that was held high from the hill's pits by the intricate patterns of the trees. From there, the steps ascended to the heart of the Hill—the Elven King's throne.

Areth and Ernil walked along the platform before the King, with Ernil's steps muffled completely compared to Areth's, who, despite her lightness of footing, could hear the echoes of her own shoes. The two stopped before the ground could reach its ascent to the seat.

Cold blue eyes seemed to pierce shadowed green.

Areth fought past her exhaustion to keep the King's gaze. As custom of the Wood Elves, the wanderer quickly lowered her eyes and inclined her head before placing a hand upon her breast as sign of peace. As custom of her people, she bowed on one knee, but raised herself to a standing position before the King permitted it.

"_El sila erin lu e-govaned vin, Melda Tar_," Areth said automatically, her stare returning to the keen eyes of the King. Her reverence was only half sincere, but as it was the proper Elvish custom, she did not want to seem ungrateful.

While she did not trust the elves east of the Misty Mountains, Areth was thankful that they were healing her companion to their abilities. Whether or not they were welcomed, however, remained to be seen.

The King leaned forward on his throne in slight interest as he regarded the human woman. Tilting his head in mild curiosity and in suppressed wonder, the grip of his long, bejeweled fingers seemed to tighten on the wooden arms of his throne. His cold eyes seemed to brighten against the soft, amber light that emanated from the torches.

The intensity of the King's gaze was powerful, almost to the point of intimidating. It was unyielding and unforgiving, much like a harsh winter. Had she been any other, Areth surely would have shielded from his searching eyes, but to do so was not in her character. The wanderer did not like kings. Her green eyes remained strong, as if only to defy the power of a monarch.

The Elven King, like all elves, was fair. His face was beautiful and young, his skin as light and flawless as an everlasting white rose's petal. The pale yellow of his long hair was befitting for a Sindar of his high status. However, Areth had long since been affected by the natural beauty of appearances.

What belied Thranduil's youthful façade was the depth of his cerulean eyes. They were a pair of light jewels that spoke of centuries of life, death, knowledge, and sorrow. No longer did the light blue of his irises shine with the vigor of youth, but of the haunted shadow of a long life.

"Curious, is it not?" said Thranduil in the Common Tongue, his dark brow raising slightly as he regarded her. His gaze shifted, and Areth found it so strange that his attention seemed to be more on her pale hair. "Never would I have imagined a mere mortal to find the path to my domain. A human woman, at that."

Ernil internally flinch, the only outward evidence of his concern coming from the slight twitch of his brow. With a quick glance at his companion, he saw that Areth held her usual expression of indifference in place. If anything, her forest gaze seemed to have grown colder.

"I apologize for not exceeding your expectations, my Lord," Areth uttered drily, with only a hint of irritation. Seeming to realize what she said, her green eyes widened slightly and she inclined her head in slight rue. It was not so much her words that she was apologetic for, as, in her opinion, the King deserved more bitterness than what she laid, but rather because he was their host.

Ernil's gaze shifted to his king as he waited in silent trepidation. The King was not known for his tolerance, and the guard knew that it was even shorter with strangers. A harmless comment it may have been, but it demonstrated a lack of proper respect, no matter how small.

To his mild surprise, the edge of King Thranduil's lip lifted slightly in wry amusement, successfully bringing his expression from the indifference that Ernil was so used to. Areth did not notice, as her gaze was drawn to the polished wood of the hall.

Tilting his head once more, King Thranduil rose from the seat of his throne and slowly descended, caressing the twisted carvings of the antlers that surrounded him with the tip of a forefinger. With each muffled step, he came closer to Areth. The wanderer only lifted her gaze when the King's shoes and long robe swept to her view. Lithe was his frame and tall was his stature, for Areth's height only came to the middle of his chest.

"That is not a reason to apologize for," he uttered softly, that shadow of a smile still in place. Leaning down slightly to reach the level of her green eyes, Thranduil continued with the same gentle lilt, "After all, I always find myself enjoying surprises."

Areth tried not to flinch at their close proximity.

Straightening his posture, allowing a gap to form between him and the wanderer, he let the expression drop from his face and once more, he returned to being the King of Mirkwood. His voice deep and even, he continued, "Such as your knowledge of Sindarin—I found that rather surprising, especially when you spoke with the Western dialect."

Areth merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, though said nothing more. She feared that her tongue would betray her once more and found safety in silence. And, perhaps, she did not wish to speak to this King any longer, for she found him so very strange in his manners. Never before had she met an elf who elicited such a presence.

"I invite you to speak freely in my halls," Thranduil said. He swept a hand adorned with rings about his domain, allowing the arm of his loose robe to trail after his sudden movement, his stare unbreakable. "You have nothing to fear."

Areth's mouth opened, as if to speak, but really, she found no words. She was silent by nature and often had little to say, save for the very few that held her friendship. Anything that she could possibly conjure up for this King would be but empty words.

Finally, she said, "I am Areth and my sickly companion is Aldamir of Gondor."

"_Areth," _he repeated quietly, deliberately, his voice like a dangerous caress. The King raised a single, thick brow. "Do you hail from nowhere? You did not fail to mention your companion's homeland and yet omitted the name of your own."

"I hail from Rohan, but I would not go so far as to call it my home."

"And why is that?" he asked. The King clasped his hands behind his back, his lithe fingers tracing the ornament of his ring.

"Home is lost to me."

His brow raised higher, his fair face morphing into curiosity. "Your allegiance is not pledged to your king?"

"I do not pledge myself to tyrants," she uttered, as if she had been asked a million times previously.

And that was their conversation.

Always, the wanderer spoke, but never fully answered and always, the Elven King asked, but never sought to inquire on what she would not willingly give. It was as if she did not wish to give too much away—as if she did not trust him. And Thranduil supposed that she didn't, especially if Areth was acquainted with the elves of the West.

After a moment of silence, the King moved away from Areth and towards the ascension of his throne. The bottom of his deep robes glided over the polished wood of the stairs. With his back turned from her, Areth regained the feeling of being able to breath. Ernil noticed and took amusement in it, though it quickly dropped and his face became a blank look once again as soon as the King took his seat.

Crossing his legs with swiftness and drumming his fingers over the arm of his throne, he allowed himself a moment to simply gaze at his guest's pale hair before once again moving on to her green irises.

"A tyrant, indeed," the he murmured softly. Regarding her with half-lidded eyes, he sought to introduce himself properly. "I am Thranduil," he uttered, his voice deep and once again deliberate, "Elven King of the Woodland Realm." Resting his head on his palm as he regarded her, he then added wryly, "Or, perhaps, the tyrant of Mirkwood, if you wish to call me so."

Areth inclined her head and said nothing more.

Suddenly, he straightened himself and his voice strengthened, and he was the King once more.

"Ernil will lead you to the guest hall."

The said elf bowed in acquiesce.

"That will not be necessary, King Thranduil," she interjected with a small shake of her head. The Elven King's brow raised in slight. As a sort of explanation, she said, "You need not trouble yourself on my account. I will be content to rest with my companion."

"You mistrust us so," he uttered softly, almost inaudibly. Strengthening his voice so that it was audible beyond Ernil's keen hearing, he then said, "The mortal will be well taken care of, I give you my word. Or does your resentment for the crown cause you to doubt the promise of a king?"

"I never said I resented the crown," she interjected in her defense. "Unless my Lord acknowledges himself a tyrant, then I do not understand why you take my comment to heart." She could not resist and said unthinkingly, dryly, "My opinion hardly matters as I am, after all, _a mere mortal woman_."

The edge of Thranduil's lip lifted slightly. _Finally, she speaks_.

Ernil quietly observed from the side. Long had the feeling of trepidation of his King's reaction passed, replaced then by mild curiosity. From the subtle changes in the Elven King's demeanor, even by the slightest raise of his lip or the widening of his blue eyes, Ernil knew that their thoughts regarding the wanderer followed the same direction.

Leaning most of his weight on the left side of his intricate throne, regarding her with the same piercing gaze, he said, "Very well. The room is at your disposal should you wish it. Ernil will lead you to the healing chambers."

Areth sealed her lips and bowed in gratitude. In fear of saying anything else that she may later regret, she turned on her heel and walked the even path of the winding branches without waiting for her elven guide. Her heel clacking against the wood. So brisk and sudden was her movement that her hair and cloak trailed behind her.

His gaze not once breaking from the movements of her shining hair, King Thranduil regarded the wanderer with half-lidded eyes filled with intrigue as his ringed forefinger curled under his pale lip.

Just as Ernil began to follow after Areth, Thranduil said softly in the smooth tongue of his kin, "_Make sure she is well taken care of_."

Glancing back briefly, Ernil merely nodded.

_Curious, indeed._

* * *

Areth could finally breathe properly when she was no longer in the presence of the King. From the moment she turned, she could feel the intense, lingering stare of Thranduil follow her until she was completely hidden from his keen eyes by the pillars of the next room. It unnerved her. _He_ unnerved her.

It was a miracle how she kept the façade of her usual indifference in proper place, let alone speak so boldly before the Elven King. She feared that she might have been too presumptuous, and yet she saw that he took amusement from it.

The wanderer had heard of the words and whispers that accompanied the name of King Thranduil during her visits to Imladris. Cold, they called him. She particularly remembered the words of a close friend: "If the world was to burn," he said, "the Elven King of Mirkwood would not give a damn so long as his domain lived peacefully in its ashes."

And yet, not one of them had spoken of Thranduil's peculiarity. No one spoke of the passion in his every word, nor the unpredictability of his manners.

She entered his Halls knowing what to expect, and yet upon meeting this King—this king that was meant to be cold and indifferent—she was met instead with an elf with such a demanding presence that wanted nothing more than a pleasant exchange of words.

Still, in Areth's eyes, Thranduil was so very strange.

Areth shook her head and pulled her cloak tighter about her body. She did not expect to see much of Thranduil, which she was slightly thankful for. She did not like having to bowdlerize the honesty in her words for the sake of proper etiquette.

After all, what was the use of words and voice if not to express truth?

* * *

_**There. Our introduction to the Elven King. **_

_**I think this is a good place to stop. Don't you?**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**REGARDING ROMANCE:**__ Firstly, I would like to issue a concern regarding the romance between Thranduil and Areth. Evidently, this is not a "love at first sight" thing. I rather like developing a plot rather than outright explaining why this happened or that happened. So please, have patience with me. At this part of the story, they do not love each other. Dear Lord, they don't even like each other. _

_**REGARDING CANON AND PURISTS:**__ As I am a major Tolkien-verse fan, yes, I am aware of the "elves marry only once" rule, but… well. Yeah. I just want to say that I got your back, purists, as (to a certain extent) I am a purist, myself. No matter how cold Thranduil may appear, he is still an elf, and elves are very loyal to their mates. I am not making Areth a "welcome distraction," as you so put it, fellow guest. _

_As to any other concerns that I did not issue, answering them probably would lead to spoilers. I beseech you to trust me to not royally fuck this up. _

_Well, anyways, thank you for the overwhelming support. I appreciate it. I certainly didn't expect such an amount of alerts, especially after only two chapters. Any questions, concerns, comments—please include them on the reviews._

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I am but a trespasser in Professor Tolkien's world. I do not own anything. _

* * *

The whole of the Elven King's Hall seemed to be tied together by intertwining roots of the surrounding trees that emerged from the earth's soil. It was a wonder, indeed, for it seemed to protect the realm like a great fortress from the shadows that overtook the entire of the domain. Never would an outsider have imagined a hidden light inside the darkness that was Mirkwood.

The ethereal glow of the soft amber light followed the winding path, seeming to lead them to their destination.

The walk to the Healing Room was silent, however. It was rather strange to Areth that they had yet to encounter a single soul within the walls of their path.

While Areth did not particularly mind the quiet, she knew that Ernil had something to say, or else he would not keep glancing at her in that peculiar fashion as much as he did. Every few moments, he would open his mouth, as if to speak, only to close it again before looking away. Ever since they had left the throne room, Areth could feel the familiar sensation of being watched. Though tame compared to the burning eyes of his liege, it could not be so easily dismissed considering the fact that Ernil had not bothered to be discreet.

Areth was willing to hear whatever it was that her Elven companion had to say, and yet, he seemed unable to make a resolve.

Already, though, Areth had an inkling as to what it was he wanted to voice. Still, she let him ponder his thoughts. The wanderer was far too exhausted to think, let alone press her guide about whatever it was that he wished to say.

Not even the mystical beauty of the Woodland Realm could take from her the feeling of weariness. Her eyes already shadowed from sleep depravation, Areth felt about ready to sleep where she stood. Her limbs ached and her eyes felt heavy, though she was thankful that the dull throbbing on her temples derived from dehydration finally passed. However, despite feeling the terrible repercussions of self-neglect, Areth knew that she would not be able to sleep peacefully without knowing that Aldamir was healed and in safe hands.

And so, they trudged along the wooden paths built by the Silvan Elves of Old.

Areth saw a narrow doorway framed by twisting branches that rooted from the ground. Much like everything else in the Woodland Realm, it emanated life. Running a gloved hand on the twisting pillars' smooth surface, she could feel the energy that was at peace within the halls.

Just as Areth was about to step beneath the arch of the pathway, Ernil's quiet voice stopped her.

"In the future, I would caution you against acting impertinently when regarding King Thranduil," he uttered quite solemnly, his voice depicting the accent of his mother tongue.

Turning her head from her path to face her Silvan companion, Areth regarded Ernil silently, contemplatively. She allowed him a moment to continue. When only silence had passed and it was evident that he would not resume, Areth turned to face him fully. Speaking as quietly as she could, for her voice seemed to reverberate about the enclosed hall, she said, "Is that all you wanted to say, Ernil?"

The tone of her voice indicated that she did not mean it unkindly. The Silvan Elf seemed to understand that.

Clasping his pale hands behind his back, Ernil inclined his head.

"I do not wish to cause you offense," Ernil uttered rather slowly and deliberately, as if searching for the proper words, "but I feel that this must be said."

"Then speak freely, my friend, and say what you must," she said. Finding that her strength had fled, Areth sought support from the frame of the doorway and leaned her back against it. She felt the bulge of her bow press against her through the cushioning of her cloak.

"At your insistence," said the Silvan guard, holding his palm to his breast. His eyes held a strange solemn glint that the wander was not familiar with—a sort of glint that reminded Areth that she was a mere child in the eyes of her acquaintance. "My King Thranduil is not known for welcoming strangers into his realm. In fact, for the safety of his people, he often keeps our Halls hidden from outsiders. I can tell you now that you and your companion are the first welcomed visitors that have entered our halls since a long while."

Areth lowered her eyes and raised a glove-clad hand to halt his speech. "You depict our arrival as if it were a sort of rare phenomenon," she uttered with no short amount of cynicism, "I have asked you to speak freely. My friend, do not pretend that our welcome into your realm is anything more than what it truly is. You and I both know that we were only well received because your companion made the unfortunate mistake of injuring Aldamir."

Ernil was taken aback by her honest, blunt response. This was not how he wanted their conversation to turn. However, he also felt the slight sting of the mortal's rather harsh opinion. To be accused such a selfish motivation for kindness was an undeniable insult. Not only did he feel the indignation on behalf of his people, but on behalf of his King.

He made no claim to neither agree nor disagree with the mortal's accusation, though his posture stiffened even so slightly. His voice taking on the attitude of strictness and forced calm of a Mirkwood guard, he uttered coolly, "Regardless, you are in the halls of my King. You have no love for the throne from my understanding, but I would advise you to show nothing but utter gratitude to your host."

A moment of silence passed. It was broken only by the mortal's soft sigh. Areth's green eyes seemed to glaze over with rue.

"Forgive me, my friend," she uttered, the lilt of her voice quiet and conciliating. She ran a gloved hand through her long hair in unspoken frustration. "My mind has been deprived of true rest, and though that does not excuse my ill behavior, please know that the King has nothing but my thanks."

The Silvan elf nodded slowly in acceptance, and the hard expression on his light eyes seemed to evaporate as his stiff posture visibly loosened. Regarding the wanderer curiosity rather than in offense, he said, "Have we done something to make you doubt the sincerity of our welcome?"

"No, of course not," she uttered quickly, shaking his head, "The King was nothing if not generous, and you, kind."

"Then you have merely lost hope that people would show a willing kindness without incentive."

"I did not say that," Areth said defensively, unconsciously crossing her arms before her chest.

Ernil regarded her contemplatively, his light gaze without judgment. A moment had passed which led the elf's thoughts nowhere, as her heart was as guarded as her forest eyes.

"Well," he uttered, the one single word coming out almost as a sigh of defeat. His entire face lit up by a small smile, he then said, "Let us carry on, then. While you are anxious to see your companion, it would not hurt to get yourself cleaned up first."

Pushing herself from the pillar, Areth raised a single brow at the Silvan guard.

"Now, I was not suggesting anything by it, my friend," he said, placating. Placing a palm on her shoulder, Ernil steered Areth through the ach. "But I think you would appreciate the feeling of cleanliness after days bathed in filth."

She shook her head good-naturedly and allowed him to lead the way. After all, she felt too exhausted to refute. Also, the thought of a nice bath was far too tempting of a thought to dismiss.

* * *

"And what of her companion?"

The Sindar's steps were mild and lingering as he paced about the expanse of the platform below his intricate throne. He held a presence about him that simply demanded to be noticed without a single utterance. The absence of the crown adorned with autumn leaves made no impact at all to hinder the authority that he commanded.

"He is weak, my Lord, and so has yet to awaken," the guard replied as he stood still and tall before his pacing liege.

"Tell me about the woman—_Areth_," the Elven King uttered softly, tightening the grip on his wooden staff as his blue eyes wandered about the expanse of the room, "You have spent much time with her."

"She is… She is rather wary. It is as if she expects us to double-cross her at any given moment. She claims that we only welcomed her because Arphen made the mistake of injuring her companion."

Thranduil shifted his light stare to the guard with a thick brow raised as he paused. "But it is true, is it not? Rarely do we ever welcome inexplicit wanderers to enter the sacred borders of our realm," he uttered truthfully, if not rather harshly without intention.

Ernil silently disagreed with him. Cold as he believed himself to be, the guard did not think that King Thranduil would cast out an injured traveler were it in his power to help.

His steps continued to circle about the platform. "I expect that she does not regard me in the best of light."

Ernil paused, shifting slightly from where he stood. While he did not want to outright proclaim Areth's thoughts to the Elven King, as the Silvan guard felt that whatever the mortal said should be kept in his confidence, he could do little for prevention should the King ask.

"I do not think that she holds anything against you, my King," Ernil uttered slowly, his words carefully considered, "but rather resents the idea of a realm ruled by a single throne."

The King was quick to note of Ernil's rather reluctant, but did not press him. After all, he already knew that the wary mortal was not fond of him.

"Or perhaps she simply does not trust the Silvan Elves of Greenwood."

"That may also be true. Perhaps it was due to her time in Imladris."

"Have you gathered why she is here?" the King steered the subject.

Ernil lowered his head. "No. I apologize. I did not ask, for I felt that she would not tell me even if I had done so."

The King curled a jewel-adorned finger beneath his pale lip as his half-lidded eyes stared in quiet contemplation. "Still," he said mildly, "I commend her honesty. I imagine that you are more likely to garner such truth from her than if I were to speak to her. Her tongue remains cautious when addressing her host."

The Silvan guard did not reply but merely inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Thranduil waved a jewel-adorned hand dismissively.

"It matters not," he said, "I will find the reason one way or another. Return to your duties beyond our borders, Ernil. You are dismissed."

Ernil bowed. Turning from where he stood, he walked the first step of the route to leave from the throne room. His step faltered, however. The King, noticing that the guard had stopped, regarded him with cool, questioning eyes as he, too, stopped just as he was ascending the steps of his throne.

Seeming to hesitate in voicing his words, Ernil's eyes lowered slightly. "Forgive me, my Lord, if I speak too boldly," he uttered softly, "But Areth-"

Having already anticipated the Silvan guard's words, the King raised a pale hand adorned with shining rings to halt his speech, inadvertently reminding Ernil slightly of the mortal at question, for she had done the same thing merely a few moments ago. The action was not unkind, nor was it dismissive, but was made for the simple intention of stopping the guard from speaking further.

Words felt unnecessary, as Thranduil's cerulean eyes seemed to speak for him. Calm and stoic was the Elven King's expression, and yet, those blue eyes spoke of deep thoughts that were ineffable in any tongue created on Middle Earth. One glance at those eyes told Ernil that his King had long before come to the same thought as he did.

"You are dismissed, Ernil," he repeated, his voice even and impassive.

Bowing, the Silvan Elf bowed in acquiesce.

"As you wish, my Lord."

* * *

The hour grew darker.

Despite her previous exhaustion, Areth awoke only after a few hours of rest. Her body felt stiff and sore as she moved on the small chair that sat beside Aldamir's bed, and her limbs felt far too heavy than was natural.

The wanderer sighed. She was tired, still, but she knew that she would not be able to return back to slumber. Despite knowing the temporary haven that the realm of Greenwood brought, being in an unfamiliar surrounding gave her a sense of unease. Furthermore, she still felt the slight repercussions brought on by being a hired guide—the seemingly perpetual alertness had yet to leave her.

Instead, she reclined against her seat's back and crossed her ankles before her almost leisurely. She gently traced patterns on her unusually bare palm, pale from the lack of exposure and calloused from hard work. For a moment, she allowed her mind to quieten and she contented herself with the simple task of thinking.

The Healing Rooms were empty, for there were none injured save for her sleeping companion. The Silvan healer that was called had long since left Aldamir to recover naturally, for there was none else they could have done further but wait.

When her green eyes glancing over the scholar, Areth duly noted that he was cleaned of the grime and dirt that coated his skin from their many days spent within the Forest. His old clothes which had been made bearing the sigil of his realm were replaced by the fine cloth worn by the elven-kind. Her eyes lingered on his hands. Cleaned from the stain of dark crimson and wrapped neatly with strips of bandages, Areth felt the heaviness that weighed over her shoulders lift considerably.

The Elves had cared for Aldamir well.

Areth slowly rose from the seat, using the wooden arm as leverage, for her body has yet to gain its full strength. She then stretched her stiff muscles. Straightening the dress she wore offered to her by her elven host, Areth sat down once again before lifting her feet bare of her shoes on the seat and wrapping her arms around her knees.

As she could do nothing else but wait for Aldamir to recover, Areth used the time given to her to contemplate a plan on what they would do beyond the borders of Mirkwood. She knew with no doubt that Aldamir would want to stay within the Elven King's halls until he deemed his work finished. As a hired guide, Areth would see to Aldamir's plans, but she knew that she could not impose on their host's welcome.

From Mirkwood, Areth would guide the scholar to Esgaroth and from there, the two would part ways.

However, this unexpected turn of events no doubt hindered the wanderer's initial plans, as more time would then be wasted. Areth ran a hand through her long hair and rested the side of her head against the arm of her chair. It seemed that her return to Gondor has yet again been prolonged.

Her arms loosened about her bent legs and her eyes lidded over her irises as she felt the slight desire to rest. Areth blinked once, but saw a slight shift in the light that emanated from the doorway—as if a shadow had passed through. That alone brought her the sense of wakefulness and in an instant, her mind became alert.

Areth did not move from her position, however. Instead, she waited.

Soon enough, the shadow became much clearer, for their silhouette came closer and closer. Had she not caught a glimpse of the moving shadow, Areth knew that she would have been taken by surprise, for his steps made no sound to indicate his arrival.

"If your purpose is to frighten me, Ernil, then you are doing a poor job," she said in good nature, her voice lowering for the sake of her resting companion.

"I did not know that you were expecting Ernil," a low voice uttered, his tone even, "Had I been aware, I would not have sent him to patrol our borders."

The deep, smooth lilt was all too familiar.

That alone startled Areth into swiftness, for she quickly brought her bare feet on the ground and rose.

Before her stood the Elven King, his chin raised and his fair face impassive. His cerulean eyes were half-lidded and contemplative as they regarded Areth, and she almost felt the impulse to straighten her dress and the length of her tresses due to the sheer unease he brought her. His robes were unchanged, for they were the same deep maroon that matched the serenity of his realm, and his shining pale hair traveled down due to its sheer length. The King seemed almost misplaced in the healing room, as if it could not hold the majesty that the King's presence brought.

The shadow of humor that was once on the mortal's face was quick to vanish upon his arrival and she inclined her head, her long hair framing her face and almost touching her feet. Gone was her relaxed countenance, for when she rose, her face became guarded.

It did not escape Thranduil's notice. His eyes narrowed ever so lightly before his features returned to its unreadable façade. Moving across the expanse of the healing room, his pace lingering, the King stopped when only a short distance away from Areth. He seemed almost amused as he watched her face shift into a subtle expression of wariness.

"King Thranduil," she uttered uncertainly, her voice guarded, if not questioning. Indeed, she never would have expected to see the Elven King so soon after their first meeting. She assumed that he seldom saw his guests after introduction, let alone visited them personally.

The King made no further utterance and instead regarded her with light, thoughtful eyes and an indescribable look about his face. She had cleaned herself well, for no longer was she coated in dirt and sweat. Away from the dark clothing of a traveler and in a dress of deep green, with the long, golden hair, she could have easily been mistaken for an immortal.

He shut his eyes briefly. He looked to Areth as if he were chastising himself, for he shook his head slightly in such a manner. When the moment had passed, the King's face was as blank and fair as it had always been, and yet his glazed cerulean eyes betrayed it as a mere pretense.

"I trust that you have found yourself well accommodated," the King uttered finally, breaking the silence. His gaze seemed to shift from her hair to the fading scratch on her cheek before finally resting on her eyes.

"Yes, of course," she managed to say tersely. Areth did not mean to sound so acerbic, and yet her words came out much sharper than she intended. As a sort of reprieve, the woman inclined her head slightly, lowering her gaze, before adding softly, "You have welcomed us into your halls without question, and for that, I am thankful."

Thranduil regarded her with the countenance of one who was tired of deceit. His half-lidded eyes were piercing and disbelieving. Clasping his hands behind his back, he then said, his voice much stronger, "Did I not say to speak freely within my halls? Or has your sharp tongue fled with your quick wit?"

Areth's green eyes flashed briefly and on the King's lips formed what could be seen as a shadow of a smile. This odd King—she did not understand him. The mortal did not know whether he simply provoked her out of the sheer enjoyment of seeing her rise or because of the mere sense of entitlement of being able to speak however he wanted.

Whatever it may be, Areth would be cautious, as she now held a better grasp of her consciousness after her brief rest. She would have to watch her words, as whatever carelessness she uttered would be her later regret.

"The wit is still quick but the tongue confined," she uttered. Inclining her head to the Elven King, she continued, "Forgive me for my earlier impudence. I was not in my right mind."

"I imagine that you do not often seek forgiveness for such minor offenses. Is this Ernil's doing?" the King said evenly, if not dryly.

"He might have played a part."

As she said this, Thranduil could see the corner of her lip turn upward slightly in humor. His sharp features relaxed.

"And now it is my turn to apologize," he said. He took wry amusement in the way her impassive expression morphed into an unconcealed surprise. He continued, "As a king, it is my duty to take responsibility over the actions of my ward."

"I assume you speak of my companion's wounds," Areth said evenly. She distanced herself from the King and took her place by the resting Aldamir's side. "The apology has little meaning to me."

The King's eyes widened a fraction, his cerulean eyes flashing. _Oh, she was impudent._

Seeming to realize her words as she caught a glimpse of his expression, she added quickly, "I simply do not believe that the apology is meant for me."

This seemed to pacify the King, as his expressive features once again turned calm and even.

"Then I have said all that I must."

The wanderer's eyes narrowed slightly. Quickly, swiftly, she quipped thoughtlessly, "I very much doubt that. Rarely do kings visit with such an innocent purpose as _apologizing_."

The edge of Thranduil's lip twisted into a smirk. Unconsciously tracing the outline of a ring from behind his back, he strode forward idly, his steps lingering and deliberate. Areth's gaze narrowed slightly but she refused to move, even when the King lowered his face to meet her eyes evenly.

She was no stranger to intimidation. Areth tried hard not to flinch at his proximity. Garnering even the slightest reaction from her would no doubt be admitting defeat.

"Perceptive"—his head tilted in slight as he spoke deliberately—"Wary"—his voice a quiet hiss—"_Arrogant_."

The Elven King's face was merely an inch away from hers. Areth could almost feel the ice of his piercing gaze despite the warmth of his breath. She was given a clear view of his face, fair and young despite his centuries of life. She nearly sighed in relief when the King distanced himself from her, but contained herself, if not to conceal the fact that the Sindar undeniably unnerved her.

As if commending, he uttered finally, his voice taking his usual smooth lilt of evenness, "Honest."

And then, he continued, "But you are correct in assuming otherwise. My purpose lies beyond frivolous and rather artificial apologies." He paused then, glancing at the mortal from the corner of his half-lidded eyes. When she remained silent, he continued, "I want to know why you and your companion travel though my realm without leave. What exactly do you wish to accomplish by entering my domain?"

Had Areth not held her tongue, she would have said, "Is it a crime to do so?" However, it would be in her best interest to know her place, as Ernil had wisely cautioned. The wanderer was only beginning to learn that King Thranduil did not have a great patience to tolerate many things. It was evident that she was merely grazing past the borders.

Instead, she inclined her head and spoke, her words cautious and thoughtful, "I am a mere guide to my companion, whose business in your realm is purely academic, my King."

His light blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly before his features became blank once more.

"I am content with your words," he said. Seeming like an afterthought, he added, "for now."

"I have no other version of the truth," she asserted.

"Indeed," Thranduil uttered dryly. "Then you can tell me nothing more."

He turned, as if to leave, and only when she was no longer in his line of vision was Areth able to breathe easily.

"I invite you to join me in the morn. For now, I will leave you to your thoughts."

King Thranduil uttered no other words and simply departed, the end of his deep robes trailing behind him. He left as silently as he came. His undefined silhouette was the only vision of Thranduil that she could see. His bejeweled hand made a slight waving gesture, and she was certain that it was not mean for her.

It seemed that Thranduil was as wary of her as she was of him.

Only when he truly left did the wanderer allow her posture to loosen. Areth exhaled a heavy breath as she dropped her weight on the seat she previously occupied. She felt exhausted.

She hoped Aldamir would awaken quickly, if only for the sake of not having to bear the weight of the Elven King's overwhelming presence alone.

* * *

_Yay. This was originally gonna be posted yesterday, but I made an unexpected trip to the cinema that made me reassess Thranduil's character. This chapter was kind of hard to write. _


	4. Chapter 4

_Apologies if this chapter seems to be missing something, but I suppose this can be considered as a part one of sorts that joints to the next chapter. And also, another apology regarding the next chapter, for I will not be able to update until the weekend after the next. _

_Thank you for the reviews and whatnot. I appreciate it, especially the critical feeds that pierces my heart like toothpicks. It is a beautiful pain. _

_However, I cannot seem to bring myself to stop writing my descriptions with redundant colors. Apologies to the reviewer who brought up that concern, but I like repetitive colors. Fitzgerald does it, Professor Tolkien does it. I don't know, I like it. Sorry, sorry, but I can't stop. There is a relevance to the colors, though. _

_Well. Here it is. Review if you have a concern or if you want to share your opinions about the Desolation of Smaug. I'll gladly drive you up the wall will my nerdy rants. _

_**Disclaimer: **I could not claim to own anything as magnificent as Professor Tolkien's work. _

* * *

Aldamir woke to the soothing sting on his palms, as if fresh herbs were spread over the skin and took effect beyond his wounds. Lifting the heavy lids of his eyes to examine his bandaged hands, he supposed that it was the case. This was no doubt the work of elvish healing.

Bringing his palm on the center of his chest, taking a distant note of the soft feeling of silk, Aldamir gave a heavy sigh and closed his eyes once more. He was so very tired. He would not have believed it if they had said that he had been resting for days.

But he felt that he had rested enough.

Moving his arm, Aldamir bent his elbow to support his weight as best as he could. When he attempted to do the same with his other arm, the scholar gave a quiet hiss, for he found an intense pain to shoot upon the upper portion of his limb and fell back again against the cushion of the bed.

His head shifted slightly—enough to look at the sleeve of his arm—only to find the wet, crimson stain of his wound seeping through the elven cloth. Aldamir felt a slight sickness upon looking at the injury and turned away. His hand hovered over his arm, but he dared not touch it in fear of doing further damage.

"Areth…" he uttered weakly, his voice low and rasping from disuse.

Aldamir uttered the only name he knew, for he did not know who else to call.

His eyesight failed him, for all that he could see was hindered by the blur of his unfocused vision. Though, despite that, Aldamir could see a light that emanated from the open doorway. A light, he thought in wonder, which certainly did not radiate from any flame.

From his half-lidded eyes, he could see the outline of a figure, graceful and radiant, enter through the pathway of his room. The figure was but a blur, for in his eyes, they remained unfocused.

Aldamir did not try to move when the healer began prodding at his shoulder wound, for they knew their craft well and helped sooth the pain until it dulled into almost nothing.

"Where is… Areth?" he repeated once more, though his voice became a mere whisper.

But the Silvan elf had no answer.

Instead, in her accented lilt, she said one word that Aldamir was able to understand.

"Sleep."

* * *

Securing the wooden bow on her back, Areth took a deep breath when she finally slowed her step. Here were the northern borders of Mirkwood, the very edge of the land which was under King Thranduil's protection. From where she stood by the edge of the waters, it was bare of tall trees and she could see clearly the small wonder that was the City by the Lake.

_Esgaroth_.

Even when renovated to its former glory, Lake-town seemed rather small and insignificant compared to its neighboring realms. She tilted her head to the side as she regarded the far-away settlement, renewed and awakened form its stagnating economy by the wealth brought by the Lonely Mountain. Then again, perhaps the wanderer was unable to fully grasp the beauty of the simple city due to her extensive traveling to much more majestic realms. Esgaroth seemed to almost fade beside the glory that they brought.

At that, she frowned slightly. It was such a shame to lose an appreciation for the small things the world had to offer.

Areth shook her head and rid herself of such thoughts. She parted from the Halls of the Elven King to find the swiftest and safest route to Esgaroth, not to reminisce over the old ways of life. They had lost far too much time as it was.

Still, there was a part of Areth that will be saddened by their inevitable departure from the elven halls of what once was Greenwood. Her heart has longed for a place where she could find her peace, where she could have no care and simply get lost in an ethereal beauty created by the hearts of a wise people that had long since sailed to Valinor. She had discovered it once in Imladris and found her heart casting the remnants of the reverence onto King Thranduil's Realm.

Areth internally berated herself. She should not give in to such fantasies of home, for such things came with a price. A constant comfort would leave a mind idle and disillusioned, for they sheltered one from reality. She was not willing to part with that. Doing so would be letting go of how she came to be who she was now.

Areth craved a sense of belonging, but she had sacrificed much for her freedom.

"Your mind must be plagued with heavy thoughts, _mellon nin_, if you did not notice my arrival, for I purposefully made my strides indiscreet."

Areth stiffened. The mortal's gloved hand twitched by her side, though she made no motion to reach for her stringed weapon. She knew the deep, mirthful voice well enough to know that no harm would come to her by its owner.

"Ernil," she said evenly in a way of greeting.

When Areth turned to face him, she unconsciously schooled her features. Still, the Silvan elf frowned when he cast his eyes on her face.

"What troubles you?" he uttered with such sincerity. Ernil took his bow, asymmetrical as was the fashion of the Sivan bows of Mirkwood, and secured it on the leather of his back along with his arrows. He allowed himself a few steps towards the woman.

Areth merely raised a brow.

Ernil regarded her with a disbelieving look. He then said, "You cannot fool me, my friend, for the depths of your eyes betray you."

Areth turned her forest eyes back to look at the town that resided by the lake. They became unguarded, and, to Ernil's surprise, utterly sincere. They shone of an honesty that the elf had not witnessed before, and he could not help but note that the glint in her eyes was enough to bring emotion to the stranger's usually stoic face. The Silvan elf found it incredible how such simple a thing could change how one could be perceived.

"I suppose… I feel a longing in my heart," she uttered haltingly, as if she were not fully confident in the justice that her words would convey.

The guard found her response even more unexpected. He didn't think that Areth would give him a proper answer.

"You speak of a longing as you stare at this far-away town," Ernil said softly as he stared ahead, his light steps swift and quiet upon the uneven stones by the river. He did not stop until he stood beside the mortal, looking over the heights of Esgaroth's wooden peaks. "But I do not believe that it is Esgaroth that you are speaking of."

"No, of course not," she instantly denied, "I have never even been to Lake-town."

"Then what is your heart's desire?"

The wind blew from the south, its caress chill but gentle. It took with it their long strands, effectively swaying their hair with the breeze's motion. For that one moment, Areth's pale strand hid her eyes from Ernil's. The elf almost expected her unguarded features to turn once again blank and impassive, like warm water to ice.

And to the Silvan guard's utter expectation, and perhaps mild chagrin, he was right.

And yet, while her face became blank, one word brought Ernil to the conviction that all Areth spoke was of utter truth.

"Peace."

A quiet moment of utter silence ensued, in which not but the whispering of the wind could be heard with the quiet rustling of the leaves from its gentle caress. As if the Valar themselves had granted Areth her wish, the gust of air blew no more. All were still, and for a moment, one could almost delude themselves into believing the world's peaceful illusion.

"What brings you here, my friend? Surely not for the sole purpose of seeking my company," she inquired evenly, retaining her usual tone of dryness.

And the moment had passed. The wind sung once more.

In an instant, Ernil's solemn expression was lifted and was once again filled with calm and mirth.

"Can I not walk past by these borders without question? Must I always have an answer for my every action?"

Areth merely nodded, as if acknowledging to a different answer. Her stare still lingered towards the distance to Esgaroth.

"So the King sent you here to patrol the northern borders."

"Precisely," he responded. Glancing sideways towards the woman, he then inquired, "What brings you so far from the Halls? I did not think you would leave without the company of your sickly friend."

Ernil, of course, did not believe for a second that the guide would leave without her companion, but he was rather curious as to what she was doing outside the Halls of his King. She was not even dressed in proper attire to wander in the forest, much less travel past the borders, as she was wearing only the dress of elvish making, now sullied due to being dragged about as she walked.

"I was merely estimating the distance that we must travel after Aldamir's recovery."

Her eyes narrowed against the bright light of the sun as she contemplated the time. The sun was directly above them, indicating the passing of the morn and the day's emergence to noon. Areth had been traveling since before the light's rise.

The Silvan elf shook his head, as if in dismissal. "You worry needlessly, my friend. As you are the guest to his realm, my King Thranduil would gladly provide you with the proper escort to Esgaroth-"

"-Which would be an unnecessary trouble," she cut off.

"Is it truly such a task for you to accept help?" Ernil said with only a hint of exasperation.

"Of course not. I just do not see the point of accepting help that is useless to me and troublesome for you."

The Silvan guard was tempted to make a comment about her rather prideful nature, though held his tongue. Any note like that, no matter how harmless or simple, he knew, would bring back her guarded façade.

And so, he conceded.

"Will you not turn back, Areth? The day grows darker. Danger hides to shield itself from light, but peril still lurks until it deems itself safe during the night."

His voice remained light and did not change, but Areth could sense an underlying solemnity in his words. While she and Aldamir had spent days in Mirkwood, even she knew that they had not been exposed to the worst that the Forest of Great Fear could offer. It had been a misfortune that her companion had become ill, but she knew that they found themselves lucky that poison had been their only enemy.

"Yes," she said. Catching a final glimpse at the floating city of Esgaroth, she repeated once more, "Yes. I have done all that I must here."

Her forest eyes flickered once more at the sky.

"The morn has passed," she uttered quietly, as if she were talking to herself, "and so has my opportunity to speak with the King."

Ernil regarded her curiously before saying, "What need have you to speak to King Thranduil?"

"None, but he invited me to seek his presence."

Her Silvan companion exhaled a quiet sigh.

"Areth," he uttered, his smooth voice not lacking reproach. The condescending air that he gave made Areth bristle slightly, though she could hardly do anything about it, as she was not too keen to fight with the only ally she has in Mirkwood. "Had I not spoken to you about the King?"

"Of course," she said. She could not help the frost that seeped through her words and certainly made no attempt to hide it.

Ernil seemed to notice the effect he had on his companion's demeanor. Feeling rather repentant, he softened his tone in hopes of placation when he said, "My friend, why do you dislike King Thranduil so? He has not wronged you in any way, surely."

"You think I dislike him because I made no effort to seek him out as he requested?"

"I am certain that I am not mistaken, _mellon nin_," said Ernil. He was utterly convinced, for Areth had not done anything to change his opinion otherwise.

"I... do not dislike him," Areth uttered finally, her speech halting. Then, she uttered truthful, "But I do find the King odd in his manners. The intensity of his gaze unnerves me."

"But he is a good king," Ernil insisted strongly, as if his conviction alone would provide proof, "My King Thranduil deserves all the respect that his people bestow upon him."

Areth opened her mouth as if to speak, but then paused.

"Is he truly?" she uttered, "A good king, I mean."

"Of course, _mellon_. I would not lie. Fair are his judgments, for they are all made to ensure the safety and happiness of my people."

Looking at him now, Ernil's expression remained calm and blank as it always was, and yet the gleam in his eyes spoke of an ineffable reverence when he spoke.

"Good," Areth uttered quietly as she turned her head, her light hair hiding her eyes, "That is good."

The Silvan elf regarded the mortal with questioning eyes, though did not have the heart to voice his curiosity. If she was not willing to share her thoughts, then he would not press her. Still, he wondered about her.

"You may not believe me, but the King does not think any less of you," Ernil said haltingly, as if unsure whether or not it was appropriate to confess so. "I believe he thinks you the more interesting for your quick tongue, if I am to be honest."

"If that is how he treats people he deems worthy of high esteem, then I can only imagine how ill he regards his enemies," she then said, her voice suddenly taking a lighter tone.

Ernil let out a single knowing chuckle. "Most unfortunate, they are," he said, "for while King Thranduil is fair, he can be quite ruthless when he wants to be."

"I do not doubt it," Areth said dryly.

The wanderer then turned from the panoramic scene of the small trading center by the lake to face the forest of Mirkwood with the intention of following the same route back to the Halls.

When she did, her eyes widened in utter surprise. The guide stiffened and, in her alarm, instinctively brought her hand to her bow.

"Peace, Areth," Ernil said calmly, glancing behind with no change in his expression, "No harm will come to you."

His assurance calmed her somewhat and she allowed herself to breathe properly. Areth let go of her weapon and slowly let her hand fall to her side.

In the brief instance in which she first saw him, her first thought strayed to the odd King, for this elf before her held resemblance beyond the pale color of his hair, which was so unlike those of the common auburn of the Silvan elves. His blue eyes, bright and keen, regarded her with an intensity that much resembled those of Thranduil's. However, a great difference that struck her were his features, for he held an air of forgiveness that Thranduil lacked.

Areth regarded the stranger with wary curiosity. Judging by his almost lax attitude beneath the shade of the trees, she was not fooled to think that his appearance had been a sudden occurrence. She glared at Ernil from the corner of her eyes, for she knew that he had been aware of the pale-haired elf's presence from the beginning.

Ernil seemed to have noticed Areth's accusing gaze and looked at her with suspicious innocence.

"Prince Legolas," Ernil greeted.

The elf's relation to the King didn't really take Areth by surprise.

In a sign of respect, she placed an open palm to her chest and inclined her head before uttering the very words that she had said to King Thranduil upon their first meeting.

"Yes, Arphen spoke of you," said the Prince. His voice was smooth, and yet held a gentleness that Areth knew was not always present when he spoke. Unlike Ernil, his lilt flowed evenly with the Westron tongue, and no trace of a Sindarin accent accompanied his speech.

He pushed himself from the tree he was leaning on and took a few step closer until he stood before them. While lithe as all elves were, his height was shorter in comparison to the King's, the wanderer noted. To Areth's utter surprise, the Prince copied her actions, his pale hand resting on his armored breast, before offering her a greeting in the elven language.

The Silvan guard beside her simply smiled as his hands remained clasped behind his back.

"I am Legolas, son of the Elven King of Mirkwood," he said.

"I am Areth," she said. Even to her ears, the introduction seemed lacking.

Legolas tilted his head slightly that so reminded the mortal of his father, though did not inquire further. Instead he effectively answered an unspoken question.

"Forgive me for not announcing my presence," he said. His dark brows furrowed slightly and the words that followed were halting, "You... you took me by surprise. You bear a great resemblance to someone I know."

"It's the hair, surely," Areth replied dismissively, flicking a golden strand from her shoulders. "Did you mistaken me for your father?"

_Unlikely_, Areth thought, _especially with the possession of the keen eyesight of the elves_.

"No," he said softly. He shook his head, his fair hair following his movements. Then, his voice took strength when he again uttered, "No, it matters not."

The Prince took a hold of his bow, his bright gaze turning to the sky.

"The day grows darker. Ernil, you are needed at the southern borders," he said, his tone commanding with the authority of not only a prince, but a leader, "Your eyes are keen and will serve well against the darkness."

The Silvan guard would usually have had no issue with complying with the Prince, but his light eyes strayed towards his mortal companion.

Legolas, always observant and aware, did not miss his hesitant countenance. As a way of placation and assurance, he then said, "I will accompany our guest back to the King's Halls."

Ernil's brown eyes snapped to his in surprise. He then uttered in his mother tongue, "_Prestad?"_

Legolas shook his head.

"I received message from the King," he said as a way of explanation, "He wishes for my presence."

The guard's head nodded slowly in understanding. Ernil reached for the wooden bow attached on his back. Finally, he regarded his mortal companion with a small shadow of a smile.

"This is where I leave you, _mellon nin_," he said, "But I do not doubt that I will see you again before your departure."

"Of course," she said before bringing her gloved palm on his shoulder. Lifting her chin to stare into his eyes, she uttered solemnly, "Be safe, Ernil. _Navaer_."

The guard only nodded before stepping back and turning to the forest.

* * *

"Forgive me if I seem too forward for asking, but what brings you in our realm?"

The Prince's voice held nothing but sincere curiosity. While his attention was on the mortal, his eyes remained forward, glancing beyond the darkness of the tree's shadows vigilantly. As was the nature of the elven folk, his steps remained light and graceful as he stepped about the path and roots, not uttering more than a whisper against the fading leaves.

Areth found herself rather baffled, if not a little bit curious, about Prince Legolas. While she had not been so thoroughly acquainted with his father, she knew enough about him to notice the contrast in their personalities. She felt the Prince's kind sincerity. Though, she did acknowledge that perhaps she was too hasty in judgment, as she had based it all on first impression.

"That question is not for me to answer," she said quietly.

While she thought it an honest answer, for she knew that only Aldamir could voice a complete and satisfying response, Legolas thought it to be far too vague, in so perceived it as wariness.

"Arphen did tell me of your rather cautious nature," Legolas mused as he stepped over a large branch. He was familiar with these woods and so knew that they were almost at the Hall's gates.

Already, he could see the truth to Arphen's words, for he knew her to be capable of a flowing conversation when he observed her with Ernil's company. With him, she seemed rather withdrawn.

"I've not spoken more than a word to him," she argued half-heartedly, "He could not have possibly perceived my character through the few minutes that we met one another."

"Sometimes, a great amount of time is not necessary to gain an accurate portrayal of one's character," said Legolas.

"Perhaps that may be the case on some occasions, but it is a danger to rely too heavily upon first impressions," she refuted mildly, "Dark hearts and ill intentions are often hidden from too trusting eyes."

The Prince's dark brow creased slightly as he contemplated her words.

"You seem to know much about this," Legolas commented mildly, though his blue eyes became attentive and searching.

"I am no stranger to betrayal," she said simply. Her green eyes finding the tall doors of the Elven King's hall, she then said, "Let us enter."

He once again regarded her with his piercing blue stare, and while not as unnerving as the eyes of his father, Areth was once again struck by the uncanny resemblance.

Areth took the first step upon the wooden pathway towards the ornate doors. Beholding the entrance for a second time, the wanderer could bask in the beauty that was Greenwood without the burden of exhaustion.

While alike to Imladris in its ethereal majesty, Areth would admit that King Thranduil's Halls were different in that its beauty derived from sheer simplicity.

* * *

Areth regarded the winding pathway with distaste. Though quite beautiful in its tranquil nature, the indirectness of the route tried her patience. She had walked on it only once and she supposed it was enough to deem her dislike. Perhaps she did not like to waste time on such a consuming task, or perhaps she was just plain impatient.

She was brought out of her silent musings by the smooth voice of the Prince.

"This is where I leave you."

The mortal turned her head enough to see him clearly and raised a brow in question.

"I thought that the King summoned you."

"Yes, but my business can wait," said Legolas, "It is of no dire importance, as I am certain that it concerns only the upcoming feast."

While their voices maintained a steady quietness, it still managed to have an echo. The vastness of the halls seemed to swallow their words, however, and disappeared before ever reaching the ears of King Thranduil.

Areth managed felt the impulse to frown but then stopped herself. It would be inappropriate to do so. And yet, she could not help but feel a slight abandonment at the Prince's proclaimed departure. It was illogical to see it as so, and yet she felt he was casting her to the wolves.

Casting her green eyes towards the heart of the Hall to where King Thranduil sat, he may as well be, Areth thought wryly. The King's nature was unpredictable enough to compete with those of a wolf, though she hoped that the similarities ended there.

With a small, polite smile cast her way, the Prince inclined his head slightly.

"I hope to speak to you again, Areth," he said. His small smile suddenly became sincere. While he may have lived centuries upon this earth, that alone expressed the youth of his soul. "Despite the shortness of our conversation, I have found it enjoyable."

Further inquiry on her part was cut short by his departure.

* * *

Areth's steps slowed only when she reached the open platform that upheld the King's throne. By the time she had done so, the Elven King was already standing by the foot of the stairs, his chin raised as it always had.

The King stood tall and lithe with his long, jewel-adorned fingers gripping lightly on a thin staff ornate with intricate patterns and designs. His long clothing, now made of a fine green material, collared around his pale neck and reached to his knees. What was once hidden by his robe, a fine sword of fine elvish make was now visible, and Areth could not help but gaze upon it in wonder, for it must have been a companion to many notable battles.

Even when she bowed, he made no further inclination than to stand as he did, his pale eyes ever so watchful.

Thranduil's face was fair and impassive, but even Areth could tell that his gaze regarded her with more frost than he had during their previous meetings. She realized with rue that this was her doing, for her unfair assessment and natural caution had created a tension within their acquaintanceship.

"You are rather determined to set a barrier between us," he uttered, his voice ever so soothing. A silk of fine making that was wrapped about his arms gently glided across the floor as he walked before her with a lingering pace.

Her eyes slowly lowered to the ground, but as she found no proper words, Areth remained silent.

A single thick brow rose as Thranduil assessed her with half-lidded eyes. Her rather assenting countenance was unusual.

As she made no indication to continue, he then uttered evenly, "It is a shame. I would have liked for us to be friends."

His unchanging voice made his words seem insincere.

At his utterance, Areth's eyes quickly met his, and in the depths of her green eyes, he saw an unspoken disbelief. The edges of his pale lips lifted upwards lightly, creating a shadow of a smile. The frost in his old, cerulean eyes seemed to melt.

He inclined his head slightly before amending, "Or, perhaps, allies, if you so prefer it."

Areth opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it. Thranduil found it rather tiresome that she should feel it necessary to censor her words, for it usually resulted in the exclusion of honesty. Perhaps that it was the reason why he much preferred her quick, witty remarks.

Finally, seeming to hold a grasp on the proper words, she uttered, "I do not believe that my friendship will hold much value to you, as I have little to offer."

"But gaining an advantage is not the incentive for friendship, surely," he refuted.

"Perhaps not the main incentive, but even the noblest friendships hold something to gain for both parties," she argued lightly. "Be it companionship, love," her emerald eyes then evenly met his when she finally uttered, "information."

"My, how distrusting you are," he uttered quietly, the evenness of his smooth lilt taking on a much lighter tone.

He bent down to meet Areth's eyes at her height, though much farther in proximity than it had been before, thus effectively excluding the intention of intimidating. Areth could not help but notice the gleam in his eyes that spoke of his amusement.

"But tell me," he said, holding on a tone of curiosity, "What could I possibly gain from a wandering horse-rider?"

"Nothing of importance, I assure you," she uttered dryly. And then, she said truthfully, "Which is why I find it rather hard to believe that friendship from me is what you desire."

Straightening his posture, he brought his clasped hands from behind his back and opened his palms wide before saying, "My motives are not driven by ill will. I only wish to find a common ground."

The mortal regarded the tall King briefly with searching eyes. He seemed not to pay her scrutiny heed, as his gaze was drawn to the color of her hair. Thranduil's face remained even, and yet the slightest tilt of his lips brought brightness to his eyes. In that short moment she gazed upon the King, she found no trace of deceit.

And so, she conceded.

"I hope you do not fault me for my tongue," she said finally, "for I am sure that an hour will come in which you will not like what I have to say."

The King's thick brows rose when his eyes widened a fraction. He could not help but stare at the mortal in surprise. So long had she expressed her evident caution when in his presence that he found it rather disbelieving for Areth to suddenly accept him with only a mere assurance. And suddenly, it was his turn to express his wariness.

"I find your words invigorating," he confessed with sincerity, "Seldom do I hear utter honesty, and I am tired of deceit." And suddenly, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as her regarded her. "And while I cannot yet trust you incapable of deception, I have no reason to doubt you."

Before Areth could utter any more, he then continued, "But I do find myself curious as to why you readily accept my words with trust. I came under the impression that you disliked me." At this, he expected her to refute, but was pleased that she did not deny the truth. He then said, "What has changed?"

Areth offered no more than a small smile when she said only one word to answer his question.

"Nothing."

* * *

_I've prepared myself a fortress of protection regarding the oncoming fire arrows with burning messages attacking Thranduil's OOC-ness. I don't know, you guys. I think he's still in character. He's just being strangely nice. Hint hint. _

_... _

_Yeah. Okay. See you guys in two weeks. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Well hello there. I'm sorry I didn't reply to all the reviews, but I tried responding to those of you who had specific questions. This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I cut out a few things for the future. Hm. I don't really have much to say. Oh yes. I'm sticking to the red-haired Silvan Elves, like in DoS. _

_Shout out to an anonymous reviewer who leaves poetry about spooky Thranduil. My friend, you need to log on so I can respond in kind. Or at least leave longer poetry. I do so look forward to those. _

_Thank you for the reviews, likes, and favorites. I love reading what you guys have to say. _

_So who's your favorite LotR/Hobbit/Silmarillion/etc. character? _

_**Disclaimer: **Anything familiar is owned by Professor Tolkien and Peter Jackson._

* * *

Within the walls of beneath the hill but beyond the dwelling of the King's throne were passages that much resembled the intricacy of mazes. Steps turned and turned, leading eventually to an unknown portion of the domain that much resembled one another, but was no less beautiful. It was easy to get lost in such a place, as the sheer enormity of the realm was enough to overwhelm a foreigner.

It truly seemed never-ending to Areth, but perhaps it was due to the fact that she had no purpose in these halls save to wander without aim. With her companion resting, the guide had nothing to do but to wait until Aldamir was fully healed.

The days passed with no significant change and, not entirely sure with what to do with herself until Aldamir's recovery, Areth was left to her own devices. While King Thranduil had made an effort to seek her company, his duty to his realm prevented their decided friendship from progressing any further than it had when they first established it.

She could not deny that she found his words fascinating, nor could she deny the allure in the eloquence of his speech. They were so filled with wisdom and thought supported only by his many years of experience. However, their conversations rarely delved deeper past common niceties. While Thranduil had permitted her freedom of unrestrained speech, Areth would not risk the formation of any unintentional animosity between them by taking liberties with the King's hospitability. And so while this established friendship between the realm's ruler and herself served its purpose of severing the chord of distrust, Areth could not help but feel that it was somewhat artificial.

Areth found no hidden motive behind the King's actions. However, she regarded his kindness with suspicion, for it seemed rather uncharacteristic of him, even in the eyes of his kin. When she inquired, Ernil acknowledged the truth but did not divulge further into the matter. The mortal dared not ask the King for fear of creating further issues between their balanced relationship and so consequently kept her silence.

If she had gained anything from the days in which she remained idle, it would be a new perception regarding Thranduil. While he remained to be unusual in her eyes, she had found a hidden empathy that was not so outwardly expressed. Though he hid behind a dismissing face and a rather irascible manner, Areth could not deny that Ernil was correct in saying that Thranduil was a good king. And so, in her eyes, any previous faults that she was familiar with were redeemed.

But at the present, the Sindar was attending to the duties of his realm. And so, with nothing to do, Areth was left to wander his domain with far-away thoughts. As her purpose was to explore without the burden of heavy contemplation, she had long decided to continue to turn right whenever a chance presented itself. While it was true that her keen sense of direction seldom failed her, the vast expanse of the Halls was too overwhelming a place to lose one's way.

Long had Areth decided to walk bare of shoes, for she had become tired of hearing the loud patter of her own footsteps. While perhaps not the cleanest choice she ever made, she had become rather tired of the elves and their discreet nature, for beside their quietness, she seemed like ostentatious beast.

She had been walking though the steps of the Elven King's Halls for quite some time and found it rather strange that she had not encountered many Silvan Elves, save for a few. However, they seemed to be rather preoccupied with their thoughts or busy with their duties. It seemed to be in preparation of the great feast. Even so, not many lingered past the lower levels of the realm save to gather fine wines. The Silvan Elves were very fond of their beverages, Areth thought wryly. Some seemed far too eager to be intoxicated. It was strange, then, that despite the Halls' vacancy, Areth never once felt that she was truly in solitude.

Areth's steps faltered when she reached an open archway. Her green eyes narrowed in contemplation as she regarded the patterned pillars, detailed with dry, twisting vines unto the open expanse of an entrance. For a moment, she did nothing but stare at it with a dreadful sort of curiosity. This room was unlike any of the others she had come across.

A shade of darkness touched the expanse of the open room and the strength of its shadow was so great that it seemed to seep past the archway to the front of the entrance. Without even entering, Areth could feel its air of sorrow touching her heart, like a broken promise made long ago. It was odd how such strong memories clung to the walls like an old pain. So eager to be remembered, so cruel in its insistence.

Even from beyond the small expanse, those who saw would feel its dead air.

Her curiosity took a hold of her and she made small steps with the intention of entering through the doorless doorway. Her pale hand reached for the dead vines of the pillar, caressing with only the tip of a finger.

But before she could move beyond that, a voice called to her. Steady and calm though it was, Areth's actions quickly followed with the instinct of her alarm when her hand came to her back. Upon feeling the unfamiliar bareness of grasping nothing but air, she once again had to remind herself that weapons were not needed in the King's Halls and that she was in no sort of danger.

_I do curse the Elven race and their sly nature. _

And so, Areth turned.

The Silvan merely inclined his head and rested his hand on his chest in silent apology. He was lithe and fair as all elves were, and was similar to Ernil in stature, though perhaps stooped above him slightly. Like many of his kind in the Woodland Realm, he was in possession of the auburn locks of the Silvan Elves. Unlike those that she had already met, however, this one held an almost nervous disposition.

"Greetings, Lady Areth," he uttered diplomatically, almost stiffly, in his mother tongue. The chain of keys that hung about his waist chimed slightly with his movements, making Areth wonder how it was possible for him to have reached her without a sound.

She inclined her head but offered nothing in response.

Regarding him with a speculative eye, she uttered finally in Sindarin, "Am I being summoned by the King?"

"No," he denied swiftly. He glanced behind him quickly—a sly act that did not escape Areth's notice—before facing her once again. "I merely intervened," he uttered deliberately, his words carefully chosen, "because the Inner Gardens are not in fine condition for visitors."

Areth narrowed her eyes at him but retained her silence.

Interlocking her fingers behind her back, she then uttered, "And you were merely passing by?"

"Of course," he uttered quickly with forceful resolution.

The Silvan Elf then bowed lowly, the many keys clattering even more against one another, and Areth found herself tempted to pull him upright to his proper height. She stopped herself, however, and allowed him his words.

"I am Elhross," he said. For the first time in their entire encounter, his speech and mannerism gained a natural calmness. His posture straightened when he uttered, "The keeper of keys of the Woodland Realm."

"Well met," she uttered blandly, for there was nothing else she could say.

Areth regard the shadow of the forbidden room for a final time before turning to the direction from whence she came with the intention of returning to her ill companion's resting quarters. The unexpected and rather unwelcomed intrusion of the key's keeper succeeded in nothing but quench the desire to explore the Woodland Realm further. In fact, it only served to fuel her irritation and confirm her suspicion.

With no further words, she then walked back to the ascending staircase from where she came. While she knew that it was considered rather unmannerly to do so, she merely walked past Elhross, who compliantly moved aside, with no last exchange of words. After all, she was far too irked to spend any more time with niceties with a stranger posing innocence. Areth somehow felt that this was not the last she would be seeing of the Keeper of Keys.

Upon reaching the final step of the winding staircase, Areth turned to regard the path behind her. Her green eyes, narrowed and wary, swept along the path, only to note the disappearance of the Silvan elf.

For a moment, she merely stood with not a single movement, until finally, her features dropped every hint of unfriendliness and replaced by neutrality. She merely let out a small sigh of what sounded to be defeat before stooping lightly to the ground and gently placing her boots on the platform.

With her shoes securely tied, Areth then continued on her way to the infirmary, her heels clacking the entire way.

* * *

"How are you faring?"

"Well enough," Aldamir sighed as he leaned back onto the cushions of his bed. He sounded utterly miserable, though Areth knew from the first hour of their acquaintanceship that the scholar was rather histrionic. It was possibly the reason why she at first disliked him.

"Perhaps you should show gratitude rather than whining petty complaints," said Areth, but not unkindly. In fact, her words held onto a tone of suggestion rather than irritation. Her eyes not once straying from the worn pages filled with the scholar's scribbles and academic muses, she then continued, "After all, King Thranduil was not obligated to welcome us in his realm, as we are merely trespassers in his land."

Despite Areth's tone of neutrality that suggested her words had not been made with ill intent, Aldamir nevertheless felt the slight sting from her bluntness. However, he quickly dismissed it. If he were to take all of her words to heart, it would have long ago been shattered to pieces.

And so, instead, he conceded.

"I _am_ grateful," he insisted. Taking a moment of silence, he pursed his lips and then continued, "But I am also restless. Perhaps if Rovain would allow me beyond this chamber, I would be in better spirits."

Areth merely hummed as she lightly traced the lines of charcoal that strayed on the single expanse of paper. She marveled at the skill in accuracy that Aldamir possessed in depicting real life on paper. Even in the darkness of the Forest, he was still able to portray the herbs and plants to distinction. Though many were left unnamed, it was a start in unveiling the mystery that was Mirkwood Forest.

Turning his head, Aldamir regarded Areth with inquisitive eyes. With curiosity, he then uttered, "Have you met King Thranduil?"

"I have," she said stiffly.

Aldamir did not speak but simply stared at her, waiting for her to continue. It became apparent that she would not when she merely turned to the next page. It was then that he felt the familiar irritation for his guide. While an unspoken bond had grown between the companions upon their time spent in that wretched forest, the nature of their interaction did not change. Areth still spoke in monosyllabic sentences without further inquisition.

"It is rather irking to find you rifling through my notes without my consent," Aldamir uttered rather peevishly. Had he not been so conscious of his injured arm, he would have had the mind to cross it. "I've allowed it, any yet you won't even offer me any answers."

Areth closed her eyes and snapped the book shut, as if feeling the drain of tolerating a rather petulant child. However, it was more for dramatic effect than sincere agitation, Aldamir knew. She would not have that shadow of a smile if it had been so.

"That is because there is nothing more to tell," said Areth. She drew her knees up from the ground and wrapped her arms around her bent legs. The white dress she wore was long enough to maintain her modesty. "And if I heard correctly, you only asked one question."

Aldamir huffed slightly before rhetorically asking in his exasperation, "Must I specify?"

"Why the particular interest in the King?" Areth asked with curiosity.

"Simply because I am intrigued," said Aldamir. His tone remained even and factual. If anything, the honesty in the man's voice convinced her of his position as a scholar. "King Thranduil along with Mirkwood is the most mysterious of the Elven realms in Middle Earth. Surely that is enough of a reason?"

"I hope that the satisfaction then outweighs the pain from your illness," Areth responded, albeit rather dryly.

"I never intended for this to happen," Aldamir said defensively.

Areth almost rolled her eyes. "No one ever does."

"I did not fully know the perils that we were to face," he said. Regarding her curiously, he continued, "But _you_ did. Why did you agree to be my guide if you so thought it foolish?"

"I would not have done it if it had not been asked of me," Areth uttered truthfully.

Aldamir rifled through his memories to remember exactly who it was that could have possibly called upon the wanderer for a favor. He did not tell many of his intentions to enter the Forest of Great Fear, so it was not so difficult to draw the correct conclusion.

"Of course it was him," he sighed, as if the answer should have been obvious from the start.

"I admit that I was rather surprised when Gildhel asked me to serve as a guide—and to Mirkwood Forest, no less," said Areth, for once showing the extent of her confusion, "I have never been to this realm before."

Aldamir's surprise and utter bafflement was made clear. And then, he felt a sudden twinge of irritation at his old friend. Gildhel had been the one to recommend Areth as his guide and, trusting his judgment, Aldamir did as was suggested. It was rather disconcerting to find that he had relied so much on a guide that knew perhaps as little as he did regarding the Forest.

"Do not fault Gildhel," she said, breaking his train of thought. Once again taking the leather-bound journal from the table, Areth continued, "While I do not know the reason as to why he chose me to lead you through that forsaken path, it would not do you well to question your trust in him."

"How can I not? I feel rather deceived," Aldamir uttered honestly, if not irritably, "For all I know, your unfamiliarity with the path might have led to our demise."

Areth seemed to nod her head with his words, but did not take him meaning in offense. His concerns were, after all, valid.

"True enough," Areth conceded. She turned a page, but even Aldamir could tell that her thoughts were at the moment far away from the almost incoherent descriptions of poisoned plants. She then admitted, "I have never acted as a guide, nor am I familiar to the Elven King's Realm, and so Gildhel's reasons for suggesting me as your guide are utterly lost to me."

"Never been a guide!" Aldamir repeated. He did not know what to think. "You must have owed a great debt, indeed, if you had not the will to refuse."

"Gildhel gave me the option, of course, but he and I knew that I would not refuse."

"_Pure luck_," Aldamir uttered with a disbelieving shake of his head, "We have only survived this far due to pure luck."

"I will not disagree with you. But worry not—your time with me is limited. Once we reach Esgaroth, you are bound to meet many that are more than qualified to lead you farther north. While it does not guarantee your survival, the companionship of a knowledgeable escort does irrevocably increase the chances."

Aldamir felt a slight twinge of sadness upon the inevitable partings from Areth's company. While it was true that they irritated one another when in great difference, the many weeks in her presence was a constant in his travels. He was suddenly reminded of just how temporary she was in his life.

Swallowing slightly, he then steered the subject.

"What are your plans upon the end of our journey?"

Areth contemplated for a moment. Had she been asked a few days previous, her answer would have held onto utter certainty.

She said haltingly, "Return to Gondor, perhaps."

"You sound rather unsure."

"That is because I am."

Aldamir hummed slightly and simply regarded her with grey eyes, though did not inquire further. Areth did not need to hear the words from his lips, as she could see the question written on his face. Closing the journal, she touched her bare feet to the cold ground and handed it to her companion. Aldamir took it from her hands and merely hid it beneath the pillows.

"You must rest," she uttered, resting the tips of her fingers to his uninjured shoulder.

"You are leaving?" he asked, sensing the end of their conversation.

Areth merely nodded the affirmation.

"Take caution," Aldamir said in warning. Although he felt rather envious that Areth had the freedom to move about as she pleased, he knew that he must prioritize his recovery.

"Worry not. I will return before the sun descends."

* * *

"You tarry beyond the King's Halls so close to the night."

"The air is rather stifling under that hill," Areth confessed.

The chill air of autumn was still on this day, which the mortal was thankful for. The leaves were tall and unmoving, and not a sound broke the calm silence save for the running of the Forest River and their quiet voices. Neither of them minded when their conversation faltered into a serene silence.

Ernil was the first to break the peace, his accented words seeming to float with the voice of the running water.

"Where do you intend to go after this journey?"

Areth was reminded of Aldamir's question only a few hours past.

"I… I first had the resolve to return to Gondor," she admitted as she absently sought the sky for stars. Her efforts came to no avail, for light was still present. "But perhaps I will stay in the company of the Elves for a time."

"Are you returning to Imladris?"

Glancing at her lithe companion, the mortal merely shrugged and uttered, "Perhaps."

The Silvan guard regarded her silently. And then, he said, "You are welcome to stay here if you so desire."

Areth simply waved off the topic. After all, the journey was yet to be over. Aldamir's recovery and the short travel to Lake-town stood in the way of any future intent that she may have. She had time to contemplate.

"Have you been to Rivendell?" she inquired, suddenly realizing that she knew close to nothing past the Silvan Elf's name and position.

The guard shook his head and regarded the same skies, darkening as the hour passed.

"I have always wanted to," Ernil confessed softly, "But this realm is isolated from our kin beyond our borders." He gave a slight chuckle before saying, "I confess that I almost could not understand your Elven speech due to your Western accent."

"Is that why you insist on speaking to me in Westron?" she said lightly.

"No," he negated instantly, "I find that I have been denied the opportunity to speak with another in the Common Tongue. We do not receive many visitors from foreign lands, and so many of my kin do not deem it necessary to learn their language. I have always held an interest in affairs beyond this realm."

"Why is it you do not leave?" Areth inquired quietly. Her forest eyes rested on the sky, but Ernil knew that her attention was on his words.

He merely shrugged in a rather indifferent manner, though his light eyes expressed his passion.

"I suppose I sometimes feel the desire to leave," he uttered softly.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, the shine of a single star soon emerged from the beneath the darkening blanket of light.

"But then I remember that there is nothing waiting for me beyond these lands."

* * *

"You are rather reckless to linger about the borders so close to nightfall."

Areth almost let off a loud sigh. Of course he sought her company when she most desired her solitude. It also did not help that she held little patience for the King's elusive antics at the moment. She closed her eyes for only a minute to gather her bearings.

"I was under the impression that the borders of your realm are never left unguarded," she said. Despite her better intention, even to her ears, her tone sounded bland and impatient.

The King, naturally aware, naturally observant, was quick to catch the irritation that hid beneath her words. His chin raised and his cerulean eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he regarded her in silent contemplation. He said nothing more, however, and merely set the bottle of wine back to its proper place beside the forgotten glass.

Areth realized her mistake and instantly recompensed by adding, "My King."

Still, a silence between them ensued, reminding Areth briefly of the tense—and rather painful, on her part—meetings they had at the beginning of their acquaintanceship. If anything, the reverent addition of his title only made the Elven King's eyes narrow even more.

Finally, his voice retaining the smooth and even lilt that he usually held, he uttered, "Thranduil."

Areth's mouth opened slightly, as if about to speak, before closing. At the unconcealed look of surprise and bafflement on her face, the King did not even try to hide his wry smile. The opportunity to catch her off-guard was rather rare.

With nothing but silence on her part, Thranduil took it as an opportunity to continue.

"We are friends, are we not? It is only fair if I gave you leave to use my name."

Despite herself, Areth could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the fact that permission was necessary to have freedom to use a name, as if it were such an honor to those who were granted consent. It was irrational, she knew, since the King really mean nothing by it.

"I am not so familiar with the nature of friendship," Areth said slowly, wording her thoughts with care, "but if I understand correctly, I am rather certain that friends are supposed to trust one another."

Clasping his lithe, pale hands together as he regarded the Rohirrim before him, Thranduil raised a single, thick brow and tilted his head in slight before uttering with the same even tone, "I do not pretend to know what you speak of."

Oh, but he did. The scheming twinkle in his bright blue eyes and his unfading shadow of a smile did nothing but confirm it. It was Areth's turn to regard him with narrowed green eyes, the surprise quickly evaporating from her face only to be replaced by suspicion. It was clear that they both knew the truth, and yet he had the gall to pretend otherwise. Areth was certain that Thranduil especially found amusement in provoking her.

"Friends do not spy on friends."

"Are you truly so surprised?" Thranduil uttered ironically, stepping about the study with lingering steps, his long robes gliding with his movements.

Thinking for a moment, Areth found that she really wasn't. And so, she responded in truth, "No. I think I would have been more surprised if you had not done so."

Areth heard Thranduil breath what sounded like a soft chuckle, though she believed that she somehow misheard. She was convinced that the Elven King had not the ability to laugh.

"You might have done well to choose someone a bit more discreet," Areth advised dryly as she leaned slightly against the arm of her seat.

"I did not send Elhross to spy on you, as you so believe," he uttered. When he saw that the mortal's wary expression did not once alter, he inclined his head slightly, his pale locks following the slight movement, "Though, I am certain I have no such luck convincing you of this truth, as you seem so insistent to think ill of me."

At his words, Areth could not help but feel the slightest bit of rue. Though she did not do it consciously, it was true that she held a particular mindset regarding this peculiar king. Her harsh expression softened and she inclined her head in silent apology. Unbeknownst to Areth, this only caused Thranduil's smile to widen. It faded from his pale lips before she lifted her head.

"What…" she began haltingly, for the first time truly at loss for words, "Why did you send him to follow me?"

"To see to your safety, of course," he said simply, as if it was the only possible explanation. Returning to the wooden counter to fill the empty glass with dark wine, he said, "The lower passages of the Halls are a danger to those who do not know their way."

It was then that her previous ire evaporated into nothing.

"Are the Inner Gardens dangerous?" Areth asked in sincere curiosity.

Just as he was about to bring the edge of the glass to his lips, Thranduil stopped upon her words. He simply gave a slight smile, his bright, sapphire eyes contemplating, before saying, "Not at all. It is simply not fit for the use of visitors. All that used to grow there are dead."

"Why is that?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Thranduil merely closed his eyes and tilted his head, though did not seem at all perturbed by her question. Taking a small sip from the wine glass cradled by his jewel-adorned fingers, he then answered her inquiry with a sort of lilt that one would use to state a simple fact.

"I've not had any reason to keep it alive."

* * *

_Well, I think we're getting close to the actual plot. The next chapter will certainly be more fun, since I can finally stray away from Areth for a moment. These last two chapters seemed more transitional, really. _


	6. Chapter 6

_New cover. Yey. _

_Oh dear. I'm a day late. Sorry. I don't know why, but writing this chapter was hard. And then I sort of cringed when I wrote that the Sindars were known for their golden hair. Shivers. _

_My response for last week's favorite character question will always remain to be __**Glorfindel**__. Oh, Lord Glorfindel, you are the star of my dreams, the light of my heart. I wish Professor Tolkien had kept you as the Elven representative for the Fellowship instead of Legolas, for you will always remain to be my one true love. So why am I writing a Thranduil fic? I don't know._

_Alerts, favorites, and reviews are appreciated. Feel free to submit your thoughts and/or questions. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own The Hobbit, LotR, etc._

* * *

Aldamir had never lived idle days such as these. His duty never required physical exertion of any kind, save for perhaps carrying a stack of heavy books or documents here and there. Many argue that the studious nature of a scholar is rather stagnating for the body, but Aldamir was contented so long as his mind never perished.

When he spoke to Areth of restlessness, he did not mean it physically, but rather mentally. As his healer was rather unwilling to talk to him, Areth was the only source of stimulating conversation ha had. While he would not willingly voice his reliance on her to perish his boredom, he would not deny the truth to himself. Without his taciturn companion, the Gondorian had only the company of his leather-bound journal and blunt charcoal.

For the past week, Aldamir had been hinting at the pleasure of acquiring new books, even if written in _tengwar_, but his words were tossed right above his companion's head. He did not believe Areth to be so obtuse, however, and knew that she only ignored his indirect requests. He was convinced that she did this only to irritate him.

While the better part of the scholar's strength had returned, the healer Rovain was rather reluctant to release her ward, even if only to walk about the room.

And so, Aldamir really had no choice but to continue scribbling in his leather-bound journal. It was quite fortunate that there were many blank pages left for him to use, but he felt that it was time to acquire a new one.

Aldamir was accompanied by nothing but the faint scratching of the instrument in his hand against the surface of the paper. While his grey eyes did not once falter from the detailed sketch of the Woodland Realm's designs—so very different, he was quick to note, from the Gondorian architecture made of marble and the strongest rocks—the edge of his sight spied a moving shadow. He barely stirred.

"I thought you would have strayed longer," he uttered absently, his lilt but a droll. The guide did ever so like to linger.

"You doubtlessly speak of Areth."

These few words, spoken with a quiet yet firm authority, deep, smooth, and certain, was evidently not from his companion.

Aldamir placed the writing instrument in between the pages and slowly closed the book, his bright grey eyes not once straying from this stranger. Discreetly sliding the object beneath his pillow, Aldamir took a moment to simply scrutinize.

Unlike the few Silvan Elves that he encountered, the lithe figure before him was different, for he was in possession of golden hair that was common for those of Sindar lineage. Like all Elves, his every movement was natural and with grace, and he seemed to glide even with the hanging robes that framed about his tall figure.

No further propensity was necessary for Aldamir to know that the Elf before him was of great nobility—if not made evident from the fine clothing, then obviously from the air of importance he emitted. Truly, it would have taken less than half a sense to realize that this was the Elven King of the Woodland Realm.

Unlike the wariness that was quick to befall upon his companion's expression upon their first introduction, Thranduil was quick to note that none of the caution was present on this mortal's countenance. His brow narrowed ever so lightly over his shadowed cerulean eyes. The look that the scholar manifested was akin to awe.

And perhaps Aldamir was in awe. The arrival of Elves in Minas Tirith was no wonder in itself, surely, but the fact that Aldamir was allowed the honor of meeting the last Elven King in Middle Earth felt to be such an honor.

"Forgive my unannounced arrival," he uttered evenly. Aldamir seemed to miss the tone of insincerity that suggested that the Elven King was not at all repentant. "My purpose was to seek Areth's presence. She so insists to stay close to you."

"Not at all!" Aldamir exclaimed, suddenly leaning forward, erect and attentive. He cringed at the sound of the overenthusiasm evident in his voice but blamed it instead on the slight twinge of pain evident from the injury of his arm. "Areth mentioned going to the forest for a brief time before the Feast."

The Elven King did not seem at all deterred. No outwardly expression was shown. He did, however, clasp his pale, jewel-adorned fingers together before him, regarding the mortal with his fair chin raised and eyes half-lidded. In the air of indifference that he exhibited, Aldamir had not the slightest inkling as to what was in his mind.

"Today marks the eighteenth sun from the day in which you were brought injured upon my Halls," he uttered softly, factually. His cold eyes piercing, he then continued, "You are free to leave when your injuries heal. "

Aldamir could do nothing but respond in affirmation. He had not actually counted the days, but he took the King's word for it. It was at this moment that the outsider felt a creeping feeling of unease. While the Elven King did not once betray his impassive façade, that one sentence made Aldamir feel as if he were imposing on borrowed time, as if he had already overstayed his welcome.

"I have no further purpose here," the King said with only a hint of a sigh.

Aldamir opened his mouth to respond, but the Sindar turned before he even had the chance to grasp at proper words. With not even a grace of a farewell, he turned and followed the steps from whence he came, his silken robes sweeping behind him.

And so the Gondorian was left feeling more than a bit baffled, but mostly, he felt the flair of indignant offence at being dismissed so quickly. The King had not once attempted to seek his presence in those eighteen days that he resided in the King's Halls, and their first meeting was not even made in the interest of his presence. For all of the virtues she listed, Areth failed to mention how utterly unpleasant King Thranduil was.

Aldamir felt the admiration for the Elven King drop. Suddenly, he did not feel too upset for missing the Great Feast, if it only meant not having to keep the insincere pretense of tolerating the Elven King's company.

* * *

Just when she was about to continue strolling past the tall figure, Areth did a double take and halted right before the Silvan Elf, who looked rather abashed to suddenly be noticed. The mortal's brow rose as her green eyes assessed his attire in a rather appreciative manner.

"Don't you look rather debonair," she uttered dryly when her gaze finally met his light eyes. "I almost did not recognize you."

"I'm not quite sure how to take that remark," Ernil said, feeling rather embarrassed as his eyes averted from hers, his grip unconsciously tightening behind his back. "Please do not ridicule me."

"I am doing no such thing," she said, if not defensively.

The Silvan guard exhaled a heavy sigh as he pulled on the closed collar of his tunic, all of fine silk and of elegant making. The light green color radiated a subtle shine very much like the stars that emerged slowly as dusk faded to night. It was rather strange in Areth's eyes to see her friend clad in anything other than his plain yet practical uniform.

"Yes, well, I am wearing this only for the feast," Ernil uttered. Areth almost laughed at the combination of mourn and irritation in his accented voice.

"Why do you dread it so?" Areth said with a questioning brow.

"I do not dread it, truly," he said. With his eyes slightly narrowed, he then looked past Areth's head and quickly turned to glance behind him, looking rather mistrustful as he did so. Leaning forward slightly in a hushed voice, he then uttered, "In truth, I only resent the fact that my father rather forces my attentions on the young _ellith_ that have yet to find a husband."

Areth almost laughed right there, but contained herself. However, she could not stop the slight twitch of her lip that showed her amusement.

"Do not laugh," he admonished with only a hint of embarrassment, once again evading her green eyes that shone with mirth. Catching a glimpse of the fine bow that hung about her back, he stared at it longingly. "I do envy you so," he sighed, "for I would have preferred the company of the trees over that of my father's."

"Endure, Ernil," she said quite solemnly before her lips broke in an unrestrained smile, "But I will not lie. I do find humor in your dilemma."

"Then you are no different from many others," he uttered dryly.

Clapping a pale palm over the smooth cloth of his shoulder, Areth then said, "No sympathies, my friend."

"I thought not," he sighed, "Doubtlessly, you would resent these sorts of formal festivities if forced to act on such a ridiculous charade."

"One of these days, a maiden will catch your eye and you will have to watch your tongue."

"A day that will come far from this moment, I hope."

Areth shook her head but said nothing more. Feeling this to be the end of their conversation, Areth took a step forward towards her intended path, but before she could, Ernil asked, "Will you be present at the feast?"

The mortal's light brow rose slightly before she uttered, "You sound rather hopeful."

Having the decency to look sheepish, he then said, "I had planned to spend my time in your company if it were so, for my father would surely allow me peace if I were guiding the King's guest."

Areth waved away his worries.

"Your company would be most appreciated, as I do not know many who are in attendance."

Ernil looked relieved before once again schooling his features to indifference. Quite suddenly, his light eyes widened ever so slightly as he looked past her and his expression suddenly morphed into dread. One would have thought that peril was looking directly at him.

Without further inclination, the Silvan guard excused himself rather abruptly before turning to the other direction, his pace a contained run. When Areth turn to discreetly look at an unwitting elf maiden, even she could not contain her humor.

* * *

"Why did you act in such a manner?"

Despite the curtness of her words and briskness of her attitude, Areth did not exhibit unkindness. She was rather irritated, yes, but her quick movements only showed it in such a small extent.

Thranduil's half-lidded eyes regarded her as he took an idle sip from his half-emptied wine glass. Otherwise, he kept his silence. It was odd that he did not feel the flare of his easily-roused ire.

"Your aloof attitude was unwarranted, I believe," she uttered truthfully. Indeed, she did not voice the things she did with the intention of offending the King, but rather to express honesty. In their short acquaintanceship, Areth learned that it was far better to be sincere, for he seemed more irritated with sweetened half-truths.

"He commented especially on your irascible attitude," she continued pointedly when he did not answer. She grabbed a leather-bound novel with a particularly intriguing cover from the shelf. With an absent-minded opinion of approval, she placed it on the small pile on the seat. "'So assuming in his self-importance,' he said, 'that he did not even see it fit to introduce himself by name.'"

"I assume you speak of your Gondorian companion?" Thranduil said absently, feigning ignorance, his voice maintaining its low tremor. Emptying the crystal glass of its contents, he then gently placed it on the surface of the wooden table beside the seats. In truth, he saw no value in Areth's Gondorian companion. What difference did it make to him if he thought him arrogant?

Halting her search for books which resembled any that would hold a scholar's interest, she then turned to face the King, her back leaning against the uneven grooves of the bookshelf. She saw the expression of subtle mirth vanish from him face, quickly replaced by his usual impassive countenance.

"I know I should not have gone against Aldamir's confidence by speaking to you of this," she sighed before regarding him with scrutinizing eyes, "But I must ask. Are you alright?"

At the abrupt turn and the hint of underlying worry, Thranduil could not help but regard her with a raised brow.

"Why would I not be?"

"While I know that you are not incapable of"—Areth paused for a moment, as if attempting to find the right words—"_ill manners_, I do wonder if Aldamir had evoked such disdain from you." When she continued, her eyes narrowed and she said, "Or do you simply find pleasure in arousing contempt in others?"

"_Disdain_. I do so loath that word, especially when incorrectly used."

Areth almost groaned in her irritation. It was evident by the slight twitch of the corner of his mouth that he did this especially to irk her. As if granting her mercy, Thranduil's expression sobered considerably before he finally said, "I am not particularly fond of thieves."

Folding her arms about her chest, Areth's eyes unconsciously shadowed when she heard the Elven King's words. With no small amount of bafflement, she uttered slowly, "I do not understand."

With his steps lingering, Thranduil then moved from his position beside the table to stand before Areth. His height seemed to tower over the mortal, especially whilst he was wearing the tall elven crown adorned with dried fruits and autumn leaves.

Touching his pale bottom lip with the length of his long finger, he then admitted, "This Gondorian scholar—he enters my Realm with the expectation of unquestionable welcome. His purpose is purely academic, you say, but knowledge is a rather powerful advantage."

Areth could not help but feel astonished.

"Ernil was not jesting when he spoke of Mirkwood's distrust," she uttered, as if for the first time realizing the extent of Thranduil's reserve, "You have grown so cautious that you suspect all those around you to do your Realm ill."

"_Mirkwood_," he hissed disdainfully, his fair features morphing into disgust as he spat the word, "What a wretched name. A once great realm, reduced now to nothing but the ashes left by darkness."

"And yet you continue to keep it so dark, thriving in isolation."

"What good is to come from befriending a tyrannical race that inevitably brings nothing but ruin?" he uttered, the features of his fair face not once losing its tension.

"Indeed, what good could it possibly bring?" she uttered ironically, no longer able to keep the mockery separate from her voice.

The Elven King's stormy eyes flashed, and Areth thought that she might have taken her words too far. For a moment, he merely kept Areth's unwavering gaze before his expression lost all trace of its hardened edge. It was a wonder how well he was able to convey such pure and raw emotion just by simply a twist of his features.

His fair face once again smooth with simply a small raise of the corner of his pale lips, he then uttered simply, "But that is different. You are an Elf-friend."

Areth turned her head to the side, but it could not hide from Thranduil the small smile that grew on her face. It slowly fell, however, when she said solemnly, "Aldamir shows nothing but utter reverence, and yet you turn him away."

"Reverence that derives from a misplaced sense of admiration," the King uttered callously.

"Why are you so quick to dismiss him so?" Areth uttered in her contained frustration, "Was my situation not the same when I first entered your Halls? Was I not a stranger, as well?"

Thranduil brought his hand to her so quickly that for a moment, Areth was sure that his intention was to lay a hand on her. And yet, to the mortal's utter surprise, he only served to brush a strand of pale hair away from her eyes, making sure to avoid contact with her skin. His touch was a gentle caress.

Areth's green eyes narrowed at the King, but he did not seem to pay her any mind, as his cerulean eyes, glazed and far-away, unseeing to anything at the present, was drawn only to her locks. The wanderer stepped to the side to create a distance, and as the strand of hair slipped from Thranduil's fingers, his eyes seemed to gain a sense of recognition.

And yet, he spoke as if nothing had happened.

His thin fingers reaching for a book above her head, his robes brushing against her shoulder, Thranduil then offered it to her. She gingerly accepted.

"I especially favor this one above all else," he commented evenly.

Areth gently placed it at the peak of the small pile of books that she had gathered without so much as looking at it.

The King brought his jewel-clad hand towards her once again—the same one that he had used to take a hold of her hair—only this time to offer her his hand. Areth placed her hand on his with no small amount of wariness, which did not at all seem to deter the Elven King. With only the grasp of his hand, he then led her towards the exit of the library. Areth felt the cool touch of the stone on his ring as he did so.

"Come," he uttered, as if he had given her much of a choice, "We must make our way to the Great Halls."

Areth's pace was in step with his lingering strides, and yet, she looked back at the pile of books left on the seat. Thranduil, always observant, merely glanced at her before dismissing, "I will have someone send it to your Gondorian."

With that final assurance, he then uttered, "But let us proceed to the Feast."

* * *

"It is _Mereth-nuin-Giliath,_" Ernil uttered in reverence as he led Areth about the crowded room. In the company of his kin, his speech once again reverted to Sindarin.

So different was the Elven King's Realm from what Areth was used to. Granted, she could really only compare the Halls to the Last Homely House East of the Sea, as she was familiar with no other elven realms, but one would be blind if they were unable to note the differences in their culture. United once as one race, and while still united by kinship, a barrier had long since been created to serve as a gap of separation, only made even more severe by time.

Imladris, in Areth's mind, was the picture of panoramic calm and serenity. While Thranduil's Realm was serene in its ethereal beauty, the Elves that resided within the kingdom were very different from the company that Lord Elrond kept. Much rowdier, Areth noted, and rather quick to be inebriated.

The Inner Halls was grand. As the rest of the Realm, it was held stable by pillars of wood adorned by vine-like designs. It was filled with a long table that was littered with different kinds of foods and beverages that no doubt was a result of the extensive trade from the north. The Elven King took his seat at the high chair, watching over the festivities as his people made merry about the expanse, laughing and dancing, but made no movement to join them.

"The Feast of Starlight," she repeated in the common tongue of the Elves. Looking briefly at the enclosed space above them, she then uttered, "And yet, we do not see the stars shine from above us."

"It has become too dangerous to hold our festivities beyond the Halls," Ernil said almost regretfully.

"I do not doubt it," Areth replied. Glancing about the room absently, she took notice of the Prince's absence. Amongst the auburn hair of the Silvan Elves, only Thranduil's crowned head stood due to its lightness in color. And so, she inquired.

"Prince Legolas much prefers the company of the trees over the Elves of the court," Ernil explained. With not attempt to hide the longing from his deep voice, he then said, "He is most likely patrolling the southern borders with my captain."

Seeming to have caught sight of something dreadful, for Ernil's faced morphed into slight panic, he then turned Areth so abruptly that she lost her footing and almost collided with two dancing Elves. The Silvan guard had the decency to look apologetic when Areth glared at him.

"_Ionneg_," an unfamiliar voice called over the din of the feast.

"_Eru an edraith enni," _Ernil breathed quietly, his words uttered as a prayer. Releasing Areth's arm and turning, he then plastered on a polite smile and brought his height to confidence. Clasping his hands behind his back, he then said, "Father. _Mae l'ovannen_."

Before Areth stood a tall Silvan Elf that emitted a loud presence despite the quiet of his nature, which much differentiated Ernil from his father. He was in the company of two other auburn-haired elves. Areth could only imagine the many centuries they spent on this earth, all the roles they played in the making of its history. The Elves did not much differ from one another in appearance, and yet, to Areth, the elders expressed a different air that much more resembled the impression she was left with whenever she was with Thranduil.

Though this Elf was Ernil's father, Areth thought that his features were closer in similarity to the _elleth_ that stood tall beside him. Too lost was she in her contemplation that she failed to notice his scrutiny.

"I am quite blind to the resemblance," he uttered finally. Areth's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she gave no response. Her glare was not lost to him. However, he merely introduced himself as Morhir, the father of Ernil and husband of Erithiel.

As proper custom of the Elves, Areth placed her palm to her chest and inclined her head in slight before offering her name.

"Yes, I know," Morhir said in a simple response. Gesturing absently to the elves behind him, he then said, "The apprentice from the Western lands of our kin. We are well aware of your presence in the Woodland Realm. So rare do we receive guests from foreign lands."

"Indeed, from the great race of Men, no less," said another, one who had introduced himself as Melhros. Areth identified him to be the Elf with a rather dreamy, whimsical manner that much differed from Elves of his age and social standing. "Tell me, how fares Rohan?"

"The same as it has been since the beginning of Fengel's inherited leadership," Areth uttered, if not hiding the extent of her resentment.

Morhir raised a single brow in question. Taking a small sip of the wine in his hands, he then said, "Forgive me for saying so, but you seem rather bitter of your king."

"Not _her_ king, surely," uttered Melhros in a dreamy sigh, as if Morhir had suggested something completely illogical, "With the amount of contempt she speaks when regarding this King Fengel, you should know that he is not in Lady Areth's good favor."

Not at all fazed by his brother's words, he then said, "You know well enough that I rarely concern myself with affairs beyond our realm. It is hard enough managing the details of Greenwood's safety—surely you do not expect me follow the political disputes of Men."

"Indeed," another joined in unexpectedly. A grim-faced elf, he then added with no short amount of condescension, "Raising troublesome affairs seems to be the specialty of Men. It would be hard to keep track of them all."

Areth's shadowed green eyes narrowed only slightly. Showing her irritation, of course, would do her no good in the company of these Elves and would only succeed in admitting her defeat. However, Areth could not seem to stop herself.

"And I suppose that you are far too great to involve yourself in anything so trivial as my race."

"What use is there in doing so?" he dismissed rather airily, raising his empty cup in dismissal, "These kingdoms of Men—they are short-lived. Involving our kind in such affairs will result in nothing, for their realm will fall and ours will remain."

"When the time comes in which the world will burn," Areth uttered in alarming solemnity, "do you truly believe that the flames will not take you with it? Are you truly so naïve as to believe that you can live in the ashes of those who perished?"

"Insolent child," he uttered, the condescension in his voice not once faltering, "Sheltered in your views and limited in your ways. What a young race—so quick to claim the answers to the world's mysteries after only one small burn from its fire."

"What an _old race_," Areth almost sneered, "to claim all knowledge, so quick to rebuff, and yet in all these years and experience will come to _nothing_-"

"_I_, for one," Melhros interrupted loudly at Ernil's urging, "believe Men to be a fascinating race. So similar to us, and yet so different."

Areth took a calming breath and looked to the elder Silvan elf in gratitude. Melhros only smiled in response before subtly raising his glass in her direction. Indeed, she was grateful for his intervention, for she surely would have caused great offense within their small circle.

Ernil took this moment to lead the intoxicated Elf away, taking him beyond the Inner Halls and undoubtedly to the rooms.

In her heated anger, Areth did not notice the appearance of three new faces. She could not help but feel a small weigh of embarrassment for her outburst. With the disappearance of Ernil, the only elf she could turn to, she felt rather lost.

The others did not seem at all fazed, however.

Morhir allowed himself a short laugh before uttering, "Now I _really_ cannot see the resemblance."

"Forgive Alagos, _mellon nin_," said Melhros, "He cannot control his tongue when affected by his beverage."

"I believe it is I who should apologize. _Goheno nin_."

"Make no mention of it," dismissed another elf—one who had yet to introduce himself.

From then on until the end of the Feast, Areth found herself in the company of her six new acquaintances. While their topics would range from many different subjects, Areth found that it always turned back to the affairs of the Woodland Realm.

It made her wonder if Men were truly considered to be so insignificant in the eyes of these ancient Elves, for only one of the company seemed truly interested.

"Now tell me of Rohan," Melhros interrupted rather impatiently, "There was news of tribute made to Dunland."

At this, Areth showed her unconcealed bafflement and alarm.

* * *

"She unwittingly managed to capture the attention of the wisest members of the High Council."

Ernil merely nodded. In truth, he was rather grateful, if only to divert his father's attention from himself. His brow narrowed over his eyes upon seeing the solemn expression on his friend's face as watched the mortal break away from the others to talk to his uncle. Had Melhros said anything to cause her worry?

"Melhros seems particularly taken with her," the Elven King commented evenly, idly crossing his legs and resting his chin on his closed knuckles.

"Uncle was always interested in the race of Men," Ernil responded.

His cerulean eyes straying from the mortal woman, he then looked to the Silvan guard and, silent enough to ensure only Ernil's ears and loud enough to be heard over the din of the festivities, uttered, "I need you and your troops to replace Legolas' command for tonight. My son told me of additional disturbances beyond those foul creatures that stray from Dol Guldur."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Have a care in your steps, Ernil. The trails that you will follow were made by Men."

Ernil inclined his head in acquiesce.

* * *

_We're finally rolling, people. This is just a quick view on the Mirkwood Elves' thoughts, which very much reflects Thranduil's own opinions._

_Thank you so much for the support, you guys. I'll hopefully update on time next week, but as that week is busy-busy week, I may not update at all._

_Since I feel like we complain a lot about the Desolation, let's talk about the good things about it._

_What was your favorite part of the Desolation of Smaug? Oh, actually, what are your feelings about Tauriel?_


End file.
